


fall, n. and v.

by moonlith



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Artist Lee Taeyong, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Insecurity, M/M, Mentioned Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Mentioned Jung Sungchan, Mild Sexual Content, Misunderstandings, Office Worker Jung Jaehyun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:33:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 48,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27527707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlith/pseuds/moonlith
Summary: — of falling leaves, falling in love, falling apart, and falling back together.
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 92
Kudos: 246





	1. autumn

**Author's Note:**

> this was lowkey inspired by david levithan's the lover's dictionary except it's one word with a different meaning per chapter :]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> — of falling leaves

**_Fall,_ ** _n._

_— the season between summer and winter; autumn_

For such gullible species, it’s a bit cruel how humans live in a world where so many things could easily be taken out of context. How ridiculously simple it is to forge meanings that were never intended if you don’t pay attention enough or if you pay it too much.

It’s wicked, Taeyong thinks, how the human mind works with art, with symbols; how something can mean one thing one day and a whole other thing the next; how quickly connotations shift from a different point of view, depending on where you stand; how easily we, as painfully imperfect creatures, can misunderstand and be misunderstood; how perspective matters, context matters; how we, as stupid beings, tend to forget that “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts” is more than just an overused quote.

Taeyong snorts to himself, suddenly feeling a bit ridiculous. He got all that from a single stroke of his brush. _It looks like fire,_ he thinks, eyes travelling over his painting. _It’s not supposed to look like fire._

He leans back on his stool, trying to get a better glimpse of his current work in progress. Ochre, amber, russet, and crimson (or in his boyfriend’s words: yellow, orange, brown, and red) swirl over his canvas in incoherent shapes. It still looks like fire. He needs a better point of view.

Pushing the stool aside, he steps back, paintbrush wet with thick yellow paint, dangling between his fingers. The canvas is simply too big for what his field of vision can accommodate.

He raises both his hands, palms facing forward as if pushing the picture away. He’s trying to fit the piece between the edges of his thumb and index finger, but it won’t. He could almost see it, the whole picture, but it’s not enough. He has to see the entire thing but there’s not enough distance.

He takes another step. Then another. Then anoth— a grunt breaks the silence in the room. No, _two_ grunts. One from him and the other from…

“Jaehyun!” Taeyong jumps, turning around to face the other so fast that he forgot what he was holding. “Shit, I _—_ ”

“Wow,” Jaehyun mutters, a corner of his lips turning up in a smirk as he looks down on the fresh solid streak of yellow paint across his chest, a stark contrast against his plain black shirt. “This _has_ to be a metaphor for something.”

“I’m sorry!” Taeyong frets, his fingers hovering over the younger’s chest but never touching. If he attempts to wipe it away, it will probably just get worse. “I didn’t hear you come in. What time is it?”

Jaehyun ignores him. “Yellow over black,” he muses, still looking at the streak. “What is it for, you’re the happiness in my darkness? The sunshine in my shadows? What else does yellow symbolize? Contentment? Laughter?” He scrunches his nose. “Pee? Like the Italian painting we saw the other month?”

“You’re an idiot,” Taeyong sighs, dropping the brush on a nearby table. He knows he’ll need his hands holding onto something else later on.

Jaehyun runs a finger over the still wet paint on his chest before smudging a faint yellow line on Taeyong’s cheek. “ _You’re_ an idiot,” he echoes, smirking before leaning down to meet his boyfriend in a quick chaste kiss. “And you owe me a shirt.”

Taeyong hums against Jaehyun’s lips, unable to stop himself from smiling. The latter already has a whole closet of plain back tees, yet a replacement is still necessary. Typical, Taeyong thought. He stole another peck after they pulled away before finally willing himself to turn around, afraid he’ll start asking for more. Not that Jaehyun wouldn't give it, but he looks exhausted. It must be really late.

Like a habit, Jaehyun’s arms snake around Taeyong’s waist, completely forgetting about the paint that still hasn’t dried on his chest. “So what have you been up to?” he asks.

Taeyong’s long bony fingers intertwined with the younger’s slightly thicker ones, allowing their hands to rest on top of his stomach. “Collection piece. It’s the 16th one.”

“Ooh. How many do you need again?”

“Eighteen, I think. Probably more.” Taeyong scrunches his nose. "Definitely more."

“Wow,” Jaehyun says again. “Need help?”

Taeyong laughs a little too loudly, playfully smacking Jaehyun on one cheek and kissing him on the other. “You’ve helped me enough, baby.”

"Good. I was just being polite." Jaehyun echoes the older's chuckles before asking, “How’s this one going?”

“You weren’t supposed to see it yet,” Taeyong replies, but he nods towards the 15x15 canvas sitting on his easel nonetheless. “It’s unfinished but it’s… _kinda_ getting there.”

_This is the perfect distance,_ Taeyong realized. He could see the whole picture now, pretending he’s viewing it from the eyes of an onlooker, not the eyes of the artist. A slightly abstracted image of trees lined up in a straight line on either side of a road, framed perfectly from the view of a window, of leaves waiting to fall. Yellow, orange, brown, and red. Beautiful from afar, but very flawed up close. It doesn’t look like fire from here. The image felt more peaceful. Like afternoon, calm and cozy. Not like a calm before the storm, more like… a calm before the end. A calm before nothing.

“It’s beautiful,” Jaehyun breathes, his mouth just a few inches beside Taeyong’s ear.

Taeyong smiles to himself, pulling away from the younger’s grip just enough that he could turn around and see his face, not too much that they’re no longer touching. With Jaehyun, this is the perfect distance.

Jaehyun didn’t need to say much. He says more when he says less. It’s on the sound of his voice and the crinkles of his eyes and the twitch of his lips. It’s all there. The admiration, the love, the pride. Taeyong has learned to read it all.

“What do you think it is?” he asks, tilting his head.

“You mean what is it a metaphor of?” Jaehyun grins, teasing.

But Taeyong just shrugs, rolling his eyes.

The younger chuckles as Taeyong positioned himself against his chest once again. “Fall?”

“Fall,” Taeyong agrees, already satisfied.

He loves fall. It’s probably his favorite season. He loves the trees and the colors of the falling leaves. He loves that it’s cool in the morning, but not cold enough to put on so many layers. Jaehyun always wears his extra thick sweaters and Taeyong absolutely loves the smell of them. The temperature drops lower at night, but it’s nothing that a great cuddle and even greater sex can’t solve. He loves how everyday is a perfect day for spicy ramen, even if he almost always tends to order something he can’t handle. It’s okay though because Jaehyun always kisses him every time his lips start to feel so hot that his eyes would water. Somehow, even the younger’s half-assed kisses have the power to relieve him of any discomfort.

Taeyong loves how vague fall could get. How it could mean the end to some, but it's a new beginning for others. Taeyong belongs with the latter. For many moments in his life, fall has become the season of introductions, of preludes and prologues, of the end of disasters and the beginning of miracles. Fall brought him Jaehyun, weird as that first interaction had been. Taeyong loves fall so much that he just had to translate his best memory of it into something a little more substantial than just a thought in his head.

“Oh,” Jaehyun mutters after a while. A beat passes. Then comes a more excited “ _Oh!”_

The older chuckles. “You see it?”

He nods a little too enthusiastically. “Did you paint that by memory?”

“I tried my best, but yeah, of course. Is that weird?”

Jaehyun laughs. “Not really? I mean, you _did_ stare out that window for 30 minutes that day.”

“27 minutes,” Taeyong corrects him, a smile playing on his lips. “Approximately.”

  
  
  


Jaehyun couldn’t help himself. He pulls Taeyong closer in his arms, wrapping him tighter in his embrace. His eyes wander along the expanse of the canvas, allowing it to take him to _that_ specific moment. 

The image is distorted to fit the corners of Taeyong’s creativity, following the usual ways of how he strokes his brush to create lines, an explosion of colors and shadows and nameless shapes that hug each other like puzzle pieces, a technique that Jaehyun had playfully called ‘the Taeyongism’ because it is so uniquely his. Still, it has enough of the original picture that Jaehyun could recognize it nonetheless: the view from the window when they first met.

❋❋❋

  
  


It was three years ago in the art gallery of the local college. 

Jaehyun merely stopped by to calm himself after a hectic day at work. Being an intern in the corporate world is no joke. It was a lot of bullying disguised as training and a shitload of borderline ethical violations. Jaehyun knew what he was getting into the moment he applied for this job. That day in particular though was especially hard on him. He thought he was doing well on a project, trying out something new, only to be dragged to mud by an insecure senior manager who liked to do things the usual boring way. Jaehyun couldn’t do anything about it though. At that time, it’s either get shitted on or be unemployed. And frustrating as it is, even if he hated feeling worthless, he hated the idea of being jobless even more.

So he did what he usually does: he went to seek art.

He wasn’t really in it for the colors or the imagery or any of the art technicalities. It just comforts him, the fact that most artists have problems of their own, probably worse than his, and how they somehow manage to translate those worries into art. He’s amazed by the fact that most of it is basically just a combination of nothings and the human mind manages to convince itself that it _is_ something. How a line could symbolize a life and a crumpled paper is one’s flawed dignity or whatever. It’s amusing, Jaehyun thinks, how even the most twisted paintings can find its way into a gallery and someone with an equally twisted mind would consider it a masterpiece.

Strangely enough though, none of the artworks that day amused him as much as the guy staring at the window did.

Jaehyun didn’t mind him at first. It was nothing out of the ordinary. People stare out the window all the time. Usually just for a few minutes. But this guy hasn’t moved since the moment he came. Jaehyun passed by the gallery door several times just to get a glimpse at the hall window, half-expecting for the guy to disappear the next time he comes around. But he didn’t.

When Jaehyun finished the exhibit, the guy was still right there. He was starting to think it was a sculpture. No one can stay in a single position for that long, right? But then again, no sculpture could possibly be as realistic as this. Fabric, skin, and all. Also, sculptures don’t breathe… right…?

Jaehyun felt ridiculous that he had to come closer just to make sure. He felt even more ridiculous that he leaned forward and twisted his body enough to see its _—_ no, _his_ face.

“You’re not real,” he mumbled stupidly.

The guy is beautiful. He wasn’t a sculpture, Jaehyun was half-sure of that now, but he might as well be. From the curves of his brows to the ridge of his nose, the arch of his cheek and the rose-shaped scar just above it, the perfect shape of his eyes and the supple form of his lips, it was nothing less than a work of art.

“Um.” The guy took a step back, startled. “Who are you?”

“Sorry. I just saw you here,” Jaehyun said. He looked at the window, trying to see what’s so interesting to keep this stranger in the same place for so long, finding nothing but golden leaves and trees and people and cars. A usual autumn afternoon. What was he looking at? Jaehyun frowned. “I’ve been through the entire gallery, spent approximately three minutes staring at each piece. There are 12 pieces in there which means I was there for approximately 36 minutes. You came while I was at the third piece which means you’ve been staring at…” he looked out again. Still nothing. “...trees for 27 minutes.”

The stranger blinked. “Wow. When my math teacher said we’ll use algebra in our daily lives, I never thought she meant it that way,” he muttered.

A wave of embarrassment hit Jaehyun square in the stomach, making him want to smack himself in the head. He forced a smile as blood rushed to his face, coloring his cheeks and ears pink. Did he really have to blurt out his basic computation of how long he’s lowkey been stalking a complete stranger? No. But his anxieties dissipated as soon as the guy’s lips twitched up on one side.

“So 27 minutes?” The guy smirked.

“Approximately.”

“Approximately. Of course,” he echoed in a chuckle. “That’s a lot of minutes.”

“It is,” Jaehyun replied. He was unsure how this conversation started or where it's heading, but he's more than sure he wanted to draw it out. So even if there was absolutely nothing intellectual about his words, he uttered them nonetheless. “You’ve really just been staring at trees?”

“I _have_ just been staring at trees. Is that weird?”

Jaehyun shrugged. “For that long? A little bit, yeah.”

“It’s the color.” The guy scrunched his nose. “I find it ironic.”

Jaehyun waited, but the guy didn’t seem like he would say more. “The color?”

He nodded. “Yeah, it’s warm,” he said, as if that explains everything. “You know what else I find ironic?”

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow. What’s warm and what else is ironic?

“The fact that you’ve been intermittently staring at me for approximately 30 minutes and you still haven’t asked for my name,” the guy continued, no longer returning his gaze. “It’s Taeyong, by the way. I don’t think you should have the pleasure of asking anymore.”

Jaehyun’s ears flooded red. He did just admit to staring at a stranger for almost half an hour and he didn’t even ask for his name. Yet, he now has it. “Taeyong,” he said, as if testing how it would sound from his tongue. He liked it. “What’s so ironic about trees?”

“The color, Nameless Person,” Taeyong sighed. “I already told you that. Keep up.”

Jaehyun couldn’t help but laugh. Approximately 30 minutes since he first saw him, 3 minutes since they first spoke, and somehow, Taeyong had managed to roast him. Twice. If this was any other person, he would start feeling like absolute shit about himself. He had never been good at reacting to sarcasm. But for some reason, Jaehyun found himself thanking the universe that this beautiful non-sculpture is talking to him even if in this way.

Before he could think of a better retort, Taeyong groaned loudly, shaking his head. He was looking at Jaehyun once again, eyebrows scrunched. “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this obnoxious. I just finished my fourth cup of coffee,” he explained.

Jaehyun clicked his tongue. “That’s too bad. I was about to ask if you wanted to get one with me.”

“Oh.” Taeyong frowned. “Well, um, I… do. But I’m afraid my heart would explode if I drink another cup within the next three hours and it has absolutely nothing to do with your smile. I _think_..?”

Jaehyun chewed on his lip to keep himself from grinning but the fullness of his cheeks is giving him away. The courage he has at this moment is so uncharacteristic of him but he also doesn’t want to stop talking to this stranger he met at the art gallery. “How about I ask you again after three hours and let’s do something else while we wait?”

Taeyong pursed his lips, also trying to bite back a smile. It didn’t work for him either. “Before I say yes, there’s still that ironic thing though,” he said.

“Jaehyun,” he replied, not missing a beat. He wasn’t about to let Taeyong call him out thrice in less than ten minutes. “My name’s Jaehyun.”

“Nice,” Taeyong laughed. “It’s been six minutes and it feels like you know me already.”

The beam on Jaehyun’s face felt ridiculous but he couldn’t help it. “Just approximately,” he replied.

They walked around the uni for another half hour before deciding to settle on a park bench. He learned about Taeyong in an hour more than he learned about anyone else in that span of time.

Jaehyun learned Taeyong used to be an art student here. Sometimes, he’s an artist, but oftentimes, he’s a procrastinator, focusing more on art appreciation than on actually making art. He was one of the organizers of the art gallery they were just in and on other days, he works as an art consultant too. He’s from Seoul and he hasn’t been anywhere outside of South Korea. He’s two years older than Jaehyun and probably three or four inches shorter. It’s the perfect height, Jaehyun thought. For what, he wasn’t sure just yet.

He asked Taeyong why he does art, and the older answered that he couldn’t see himself doing anything else. Taeyong returned the question and asked Jaehyun what he does. The latter answered that he interns at a famous marketing firm. Why does he do it? “They say I’m persuasive,” Jaehyun joked. But in reality, he doesn't know. He just looked at his college application form and chose the degree that sounded nice.

Taeyong wondered why Jaehyun asked, so the younger admitted that he was just curious if his new friend has a sad origin story of his own. But Taeyong just snorted and accused him of being a pessimist. (Jaehyun would later find out though that Taeyong _did_ have a sad origin story of his own, a depressing spiral of insecurities breathed to life by his own family and augmented by experiences from his past lover.)

When they started shivering more often, they decided to look for a cafe. Despite the original invite, they agreed not to order coffee so Taeyong opted for green tea while Jaehyun ordered some sort of hibiscus lemonade concoction of sorts _._ It was too sweet, he didn’t like it.

He forgot to ask about the trees again but Taeyong talked about them nonetheless. About how it’s ironic because autumn leaves are yellow and orange and red even if autumn somehow feels blue. How the warm colors in a cold season could be a metaphor for something, he just doesn’t know what yet. How cool it would be if autumn is colored blue. _But blue is for winter,_ Jaehyun thought aloud. “Then make autumn purple,” Taeyong replied. _But that would be weird._ “Weird, like how we met because I was staring at the autumn leaves for too long and you thought I wasn’t real?” _It depends on perspective._ “Well, what’s your perspective?” _Maybe weird is good?_ “Maybe weird is good,” they agreed.

They exchanged numbers and promised to see each other again. Jaehyun went back to his apartment that night with a smile so wide, he almost felt like dancing to a Taylor Swift song. He felt like an idiot, but surprisingly, he kind of likes this idiot. 

The promise of a meeting wasn’t broken. They saw each other the next day and the day after that and the day after that and several days more until Jaehyun could no longer keep count. It felt nothing like a new friendship. A soulmate thing, Taeyong joked one day. But Jaehyun agreed. Maybe that’s what it was.

Before he knew it, he’s removing a syllable from Taeyong’s name everytime he calls him, as if that made them closer, while Taeyong added more in his. It didn’t matter which variation of their names they used though because the call signs came in even before he expected them.

The first time Taeyong called him ‘baby,’ it was just an accident. They’d known each other for two months. They weren’t a couple per se, but they definitely weren’t just friends either. They both acknowledged that feelings have somehow become involved, but both of them were too scared to put a label on it just yet.

“What are you, my mom?” Jaehyun scoffed one day when Taeyong was scolding him about his immune system, to which the older replied with, “No, but you’re my baby.”

Jaehyun laughed, teasing his hyung for calling him baby before adding, “It’s fine. I’ll call you baby too.” Taeyong refused to accept it but Jaehyun could see the flush of his cheeks and his irresistible urge to smile. He already knew it all too well.

That night, he used it experimentally over text, _goodnight baby._ A blushing emoji, innocent but not really, and an orange heart. Orange, because it’s a shade shy of red, because red feels a bit too much at the moment, and yellow just doesn’t feel like them.

Taeyong didn’t reply so Jaehyun spent the next half hour wanting to punch himself, thinking he finally did it. He overstepped a line. He lost him. Maybe it’s too soon to call him baby? Fuck, maybe he’s the only one feeling _things._ Maybe those things didn’t mean the same to Taeyong. Maybe he read too much into it. Maybe _—_

There was a knock on his door. It was Taeyong. It turns out he wanted to hear it spoken directly from Jaehyun’s mouth. 

But not before kissing him senseless. And not before going a little bit further. No, way _way_ further.

An hour and a half later, they were tangled in a mess of sheets, half-drunk in cheap wine and hung up on amazing sex and a shitload of thoughts about the uncertainty of tomorrow. With drowsy eyes and legs sprawled on the space between Jaehyun’s, Taeyong asked for what he came for again.

Jaehyun smiled and kissed him on the temple. Taeyong was looking at him with those big eyes, glistening with the faint light of the street lamps peeking through the window. It’s only been two months since that afternoon in the art gallery. Just two months, but who cares how fast it has all been.

Jaehyun realized he spent the entire autumn falling. Yet, he was still afraid to label it, afraid he was seeing more than what there actually is. So instead of something he thought he would regret, he just mumbled against Taeyong’s lips, “Goodnight, baby.”

Maybe that’s when they started to become a couple per se.

  
  


❋❋❋

  
  


Jaehyun smiles to himself as he comes out of his daze.

Taeyong is still wrapped in his arms, his head resting against the younger’s shoulder, back against his chest, eyes closed, and lips pressed together.

“Hyung,” Jaehyun says, shaking Taeyong lightly. “It’s almost midnight. Let’s get you to bed?”

“Almost midnight?” Taeyong squirms in his hold, turning around to face him, head bent low. When he’s finally face to face with the younger, he groans upon seeing the less opaque and slightly smudged yellow paint on Jaehyun’s chest. “Jae!" he whines. "You got some of the paint on my back, didn’t you?”

Jaehyun laughs. He didn’t mean to do it, but Taeyong probably thinks he planned it as payback. “Metaphor for I share my happiness with you?”

“You owe me a shirt too,” Taeyong grumbles.

“Call it even?”

“Fine.” Taeyong rolls his eyes. “Thank god I love you.”

“Thank god indeed.” Jaehyun chuckles cheekily, catching Taeyong’s lips in his once again. It’s nice how he can kiss him anytime he wants. “Bed?” he mumbles, lips still locked.

Taeyong inhales, lingering a little longer before pulling away. “I have to wash my face first because you’re an idiot.” He pouts, yellow streak of paint clearly visible just below his cheekbones. “Wait for me there?”

Another peck before Jaehyun mutters a small okay. But Taeyong is already out the door.

Taeyong’s small studio is a converted spare room just beside their bedroom. It used to be a storage room of their stuff, but Taeyong somehow managed to make a nook for himself in there, letting himself swim in his art alone. So after a few months of struggling to get him out of the room, Jaehyun figured they might as well make the space Taeyong’s. 

Jaehyun saunters towards their bedroom with heavy steps, letting himself fall onto the mattress with a grunt. The bathroom is merely a few feet away from their room. Merely a few feet from anywhere really. Everything is supposed to be close enough in their tiny apartment, but lately, everything has been feeling so far. Taeyong has been feeling so far.

Jaehyun never tells him that though. He knows the older tends to drown himself in his own ideas every once in a while. He’s known it ever since they met. Jaehyun knew better than to pull Taeyong out of his creative pool when he rarely gets to fully soak in all its glory. He knew exactly where Taeyong’s insecurities lie.

Still he couldn’t help but hope that Taeyong comes back to him a little easier than this, without him having to pull him back every time. Sometimes, he wishes he could be greeted with something as simple as a kiss or an embrace after coming home from a hard day at work, to have his worries drift away while eating dinner with his boyfriend even if it’s 10 in the evening. Sometimes, he wishes he could be selfish. Oftentimes, he beats himself up for even thinking that way. _I’m better than his past_ , he told himself with a sigh, head already sinking in his pillow. 

His eyelids feel a ton as soon he lays down. Waiting for Taeyong proved to be harder than he originally thought. He wants to stay awake long enough to see his baby come back and nestle his head on the crook of his neck, limbs intertwined, breaths so close to each other that they no longer know whose was whose. He wants more of him. Needs more of him. But he can’t.

Because Taeyong feels so far. But as long as he climbs back into bed with him at the end of the day, as long as he gets to hold him in his arms during those few precious hours of sleep, Jaehyun is already content. All he has to do is wait.

But it’s also midnight. And work has worn him out, physically tired and mentally exhausted. And the sheets call out to him like a lullaby while the seconds tick away so slowly.

So, like the leaves this season, it’s too easy to fall asleep.

Just close your eyes. And you won’t even realize. You’re gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAA ok so the idea for this has been in my head since six months ago but i lie to myself a lot when i say "im gonna write tonight." im not sure how this turned out and i sighed a lot while writing it (and the rest) lmaooo anw please dont hesitate tell me what u think! thank u so much for reading :)))
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/pandorxsbox) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/pandorxsbox)


	2. plummet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> — of falling in love and being in love

**_Fall,_ ** _v._

_— to descend freely_

The last thing Taeyong said before falling asleep isn’t goodnight, but “I love you.”

Easy, simple, honest. Like a promise. Of tomorrow. Of togetherness. Of something better. Despite the receiving end being too deep in slumber to hear it, Taeyong felt the need to say it nonetheless. Like a routine. It brings him a sense of safety and security, makes him feel like the sky won’t fall and the world won’t collapse even if he closes his eyes.

“Love you,” he mumbles one more time, half waiting for a reply. It didn’t come, of course. Taeyong pouts to himself before dropping on his space beside Jaehyun. The younger’s body responds on instinct, opening up his arms to make space for the smaller boy. Taeyong smiles to himself, pressing a light kiss on Jaehyun’s cheeks before allowing himself to fall into the quiet darkness.

The room grows colder as the hours pass by. Taeyong squirms in his bed, trying to snuggle into Jaehyun, waiting for the warmth of his arms to engulf him in a hug and pull him closer on instinct. That too didn’t come. He reaches out blindly beside him, his eyes forcing themselves open upon feeling nothing but cold, empty sheets. It’s still dark outside, which meant Jaehyun could not possibly have left for work already… right?

Taeyong grabs his phone from the bedside table, squinting as it lit up. Jaehyun’s face on the lockscreen greets him with a cheeky dimpled smile. _2: 46 AM,_ the clock read, definitely too early. He stares at the screen until it blacks out before sighing to himself.

How easy it is to go back to sleep, to pull the covers over himself, curl up in a ball until Jaehyun comes back and takes him back in his arms like Taeyong knows he will. It’s so easy to close his eyes again and perhaps he could. Maybe Jaehyun just went out for a bathroom break or something. He’ll soon come back.

But then Taeyong smelled the grilled cheese.

“No,” he groans quietly, staring at the empty space beside him, already feeling defeated. He just wants to go back to sleep. _But the grilled cheese,_ the voice in his head whined. 

Taeyong isn’t hungry. Not at all. He’s definitely not in the mood to eat either. But the smell of food cooking at this ungodly hour meant that Jaehyun is, which means 1.) he didn’t have a decent dinner and 2.) he won’t be returning to bed anytime soon.

He groans again, suddenly feeling an urge to cry. Partly because sleep is such a hard thing to let go of, especially with his fresh-from-laundry cotton sheets, but also because he misses his boyfriend. A lot. And he hates that he couldn’t complain because he knows how much Jaehyun has been trying his best at work lately while Taeyong has been busy finishing some collection pieces of his own.

If there’s anything in the world Taeyong hates, it's being forced to choose and being left with no choice. The latter rings true for his situation right now. But no matter how much he despises it, if stolen 2AMs with Jaehyun are all he can get, then stolen 2AMs are what he will take. So without further hesitation, he wills himself to stand up and go.

When he enters the kitchen, the first thoughts in his head are _Ohmygod, it’s a proper grilled cheese,_ and _I should be the one doing that._

Jaehyun doesn’t notice him at first. He had his back to him, too busy attending to the beautifully toasted bread on a buttered pan, humming a Tom Misch song under his breath as his head bobs slightly to the tune. If it isn’t 2AM and Taeyong isn’t using his remaining energy to keep himself awake, he would’ve already teased the younger of being like a grandpa. But it _is_ 2AM and his energy is depleting faster than his old laptop battery, so he kept the thought to himself.

His next few steps are heavy, not because he doesn’t want to take them but because he wants the noisy drag of his feet to announce his arrival. He stops just behind Jaehyun, wrapping his arms around the younger’s torso and burying his face on the crook of his neck.

Jaehyun gasps at the sudden contact, unexpectant of a guest. “Hey, why are you up?” he asks, slightly leaning back against Taeyong. “Want a sandwich?”

The older lifts his head up to rest his chin close to Jaehyun’s clavicle. “Not really. Thanks,” he mumbles. “Did you skip a meal again?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Jaehyun’s body shakes with a chuckle. “I ate a banana.” He then turns off the stove before adding, “I know that’s not a proper meal but the meeting ran longer than we expected.”

“Jae,” Taeyong whines, his embrace tightening. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve made you something for when you get home.”

“I did tell you, hyung. I texted you and you said ‘ok, be safe.’”

There was no venom in Jaehyun’s words but Taeyong could feel it stinging his skin nonetheless. Jaehyun taps on his wrist slightly, a silent request for Taeyong to let go. So he unwraps his arms around the younger’s waist before transferring to his usual seat on the dining table.

“Do you want anything? Tea?”

“Sleep,” Taeyong says, shaking his head. “I want to sleep. It’s 2AM, baby.”

“I know, love. You can go ahead. I’ll just finish my sandwich.” Jaehyun smiles at him kindly.

Taeyong neither moved nor replied, already feeling a little too guilty. He only vaguely remembers the text. It came around… 8:30 maybe? Later? Earlier? He wasn’t sure. He was too deep in his work when it came and time became irrelevant in his tiny studio. So did everything else apparently. Including his own boyfriend.

He remembers reading the text once. _‘I’ll be late today. Meeting is still ongoing. You don’t have to wait up. Love you.’_ He remembers replying to it without having to think, his fingers tapping away on his phone almost mechanically, almost as if it’s a routine. Maybe it’s becoming one.

A familiar fear creeps up Taeyong’s stomach, bringing back the history of pain and heartbreak he once tried so hard to swallow, only choking himself in the process. It was not from Jaehyun, no, not because of him. Never because of him, Taeyong hopes.

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong mumbles before the bad bubbles up inside of him too much. He leans on the table and rests his chin on the palm of his hands. His eyes are already closed but he knows Jaehyun isn’t close enough to hear what he just said.

“What?”

There’s a trickle of water from a few feet away, the sound of a cup filling up.

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong says again, louder this time. When he opens his eyes, Jaehyun is holding a cup of tea in front of him. He was about to complain and say he didn’t want any but his reasons slipped away upon smelling the chamomile. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay, baby.” Jaehyun kisses the top of his head before taking his seat beside him. “You were busy too.”

“Yeah, but still.” Taeyong pouts. He watches the younger indulge almost a quarter of his sandwich in a single bite, the mozzarella stringing thinly as he pulls it away. Jaehyun hums in satisfaction. “Look at you. It’s 2 in the morning and you’re eating when you’re supposed to be resting.”

Jaehyun shrugs. “It’s fine. I wasn’t even hungry when I got home. Just tired.” Another bite, and the sandwich is barely half of what it originally was. Jaehyun is practically inhaling it. “And now I’m not that tired. Just hungry.”

“But _still,_ ” Taeyong insists. “You should’ve woken me up. I could’ve made you soup or whipped up some ramen or something.”

“I love grilled cheese though? I make excellent grilled cheese.” The younger grins. In just four and a half bites and less than half a conversation, the entire sandwich is gone.

“That’s not the point,” Taeyong grumbles, sipping almost half of his tea in frustration, scalds be damned.

“Then what’s the point?” Jaehyun asks. There’s a smirk in his voice, teasing Taeyong for being unbelievably whiny and pouty despite being half asleep. He reaches out for the older’s hand and tugs on it lightly.

Taeyong knew what it meant immediately. Jaehyun’s body language is one that he is exceptionally fluent in after all. He stands up and lets himself be pulled towards his boyfriend until he’s sitting on his lap, head resting against the crook of Jaehyun’s neck.

“What’s the point, hm?” Jaehyun asks again before planting soft kisses on the older’s knuckles.

“The point is,” Taeyong takes a deep breath before rambling on, “I miss you. In the morning when the sun is up and I’m not running on two hours of sleep, I miss you. And I hate that you skip meals when I can cook for you. I _want_ to cook for you, and spend all night hugging you without you escaping to the kitchen because you’re hungry.”

“Hm. And?”

“And I’m scared.”

At that, Jaehyun frowns and pulls away a little bit, just enough distance to look Taeyong in the eyes. “Of?”

Taeyong returns his gaze but doesn’t answer. 

It’s okay though because Jaehyun _knows_ , so he doesn’t press on any further; because Jaehyun could probably see it in his eyes, the fear and the worry. Taeyong likes to believe he could see it mirrored in Jaehyun's eyes too, that maybe he’s also terrified of the same things he’s scared of… at least even a little bit.

“I really want to take care of you,” Taeyong says, trying to drift away from the sudden seriousness. “But I’m too sleepy to even make grilled cheese and that really sucks.”

Jaehyun easily picks up on it and smiles widely, his dimples carving deep on either side of his cheeks. “Just that?”

“I miss you.”

“You said that already.”

“Well, maybe I miss you _that_ much.”

Jaehyun chuckles as his head dips to meet Taeyong’s lips halfway. It’s not a proper kiss. It’s literally just lips pressed against each other because Taeyong doesn't want the taste of grilled cheese in his mouth and Jaehyun is trying not to smile too wide but obviously failing as small bouts of giggles escape from his lips.

“No,” Jaehyun says, finally giving up on the half-assed kiss. “The point is I miss you, too but it’s okay. I understand we both get busy and sometimes that means we won’t get to take care of each other a hundred percent. But as long as I still have you, it’s okay. It doesn’t matter that you can’t make me grilled cheese at 2AM because it won’t make me love you any less. Hell, I don’t think there’s anything that could ever make me love you any less.” He smiles.

Taeyong blinks. _Silence_ , because he is too busy absorbing Jaehyun’s point; because he has no idea what he should say that would make even half a good reply; because this is one of _those moments._

The ones that just make you stop because you feel like you’ve been hit by a tsunami wave that doesn’t kill. The ones that disturb the peaceful flutter of butterflies in your stomach, letting them wreak havoc on your insides, pushing the air out of your lungs. The ones that make you realize just how fucking in love you are with someone, how lucky you are to be this blessed.

It hits harder the longer the relationship lasts. Because just when you thought you’ve fallen deep enough, something as simple as a dumb conversation about missing points over grilled cheese and chamomile tea at 2AM could tip you ever so slightly and send you falling a little deeper, a little harder, and you just let it happen. No screaming, no grasping, no fear, no flailing. Just free-falling.

For a while, it would feel like your soul is hanging somewhere half outside your body, like gravity is all you’ve ever known and there’s nothing but the sensation of the ground being removed under your feet. For a while, it’s scary. But then you get used to the rush and soon, you’ll realize the moments are just reminders that you’re still falling, that you never really stopped descending freely.

Not knowing what better else to say, Taeyong mutters, “I love you,” as if it sufficed. Perhaps it did.

“I know.” Jaehyun shrugs, not missing a beat.

Taeyong clicks his tongue, unsatisfied, before whining, “Jaehyunie!”

A chuckle. “What?!”

“I love you.” A challenge.

“I know!” Jaehyun laughs, still teasing. “I love you too.”

Taeyong frowns. The _moment_ had passed all too quickly. The sentence went from one ear to the next, the effect lasting barely even one second. There were no tsunami waves nor butterflies wreaking havoc. Just… something that’s almost nothing.

Maybe it’s their fault too. They have been throwing the L-word casually for quite a long while now. Saying ‘love you’ instead of goodnight and goodbye. Jokingly using ‘you love me’ as an excuse to get away with anything. They use it a lot and they use it honestly, but the more you keep repeating something, the easier it loses its touch. Taeyong doesn’t want to admit it, scared of what it might mean. But the _moments_ are rare these days. 

He wishes it always felt like the first time. The anxiety, the excitement, the overwhelming desire to say it that it just bursts out of your mouth like a lion breaking away from its cage. And the declaration will be followed by the kind of silence you can’t break so you just sit there and wait. They say it takes a few seconds for some, a few months for others, and forever for an unlucky few. The fear would grow like roots on your soles the longer the silence stretches and maybe you’ll come to a point where you think you’ll never hear it back. But then, if you’re lucky, it comes. _I love you,_ and even if you’ve been waiting, you still won’t be prepared because you won’t be looking when it punches you square in the stomach and makes you blackout for 2 seconds. And soon after, you’ll start feeling like an idiot, smiling with tears in your eyes, thinking _goddamn_ nothing has ever hurt in such a good way.

Taeyong wants to feel it all again, the surge of gratefulness, pride, admiration, joy, and all things good in the world. The uncontainable giddiness that leaves your eyes open at night. 

_I love you_ , more of a plea than a promise. _I love you_ , _too_ , tsunami waves, havoc, a square punch to the stomach. Not nothing. Not silence. If only it could always be like the first time.

  
  


❋❋❋

It was three months after they met.

Taeyong knew it first. At least that’s what he believed. He knew he was in love with Jaehyun before Jaehyun knew he was in love with him. It was easy for him, far too easy that he didn’t have to think much about it, like succumbing to sleep after a long day.

He wasn’t sure if his approximation of the ‘when’ was right. Do people really know exactly when they’ve fallen in love? Doesn’t it just hit you in the face when you’re not looking? Taeyong’s pretty sure it does. He has a suspicion though for when he fell for Jaehyun. He thinks it might be when the younger took him to a gallery across town just to stare at an artwork of a plain baby blue canvas to tell him how it’s worthy to be displayed there just because someone with an equally plain baby blue mind thought so. But he also thinks it might be when Jaehyun accidentally fell asleep on his lap while Taeyong told him about the possible metaphors for sleeping. Taeyong wasn’t sure if that was _when_ , but he knew exactly when he _knew._

It was late autumn, almost winter. They were in an art gallery in Cheongdam-dong, visiting an exhibit about nature and its influences on society. 

Taeyong appreciates how their dates took place more often in museums, galleries, and exhibitions than in theaters, cafes, or theme parks. He appreciates it even more that most of it was planned by Jaehyun. They make a nice pair, he thinks. A semi-professional art consultant with a fine arts degree who hasn’t made anything of his own in the past two years or so, and a pessimistic art enthusiast who finds comfort in knowing that the artists who made the Starry Night had it much worse in life than him.

On tours, Taeyong would always start off by giving his semi-professional opinions on the pieces, focusing more on the technicalities, how the shapes influence the viewer’s eyes, how colors influence the mood, what story it tells, what makes it unique or not so much. Jaehyun would always put a nice twist to it, almost always something Taeyong doesn’t expect.

That day, Taeyong gave up explaining things halfway through the exhibit, still exhausted from an auction event he attended the night before. Of course, whenever he grows silent, Jaehyun’s voice speaks a little louder.

There was a rather abstracted painting of calla lilies with a muted color scheme, mostly grays with a hint of orchid pink. Jaehyun snorted upon seeing it at first glance. He looked at the title, then at Taeyong. “Fainting Fit,” he read with a grin. “Erotic.”

“What,” Taeyong deadpanned.

“Yeah.” Jaehyun nodded enthusiastically, gesturing his hands on the painting, explaining the implications of the petals and how the stems are positioned against one another. He told Taeyong how the term ‘fainting fit’ is a phrase associated with _la petite mort,_ which is basically a French expression for orgasm. How and why Jaehyun knows that, Taeyong didn’t even dare ask. “Calla lilies: metaphor for orgasms,” Jaehyun declared.

The older rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the chuckles from his lips. He shook his head. “You’re an idiot,” he said.

“Please,” Jaehyun scoffed, “you love me.” 

Taeyong’s breath hitched in his throat. it was just a joke, they both knew that. Nothing but a playful reply to a playful remark. However, in the grand scheme of things, it might also be more than just that.

Jaehyun was quick to react, not even giving his hyung enough time to respond. He looked away immediately, ears red and eyes wide, as soon as his own words registered in his head.

Too bad, Taeyong thought, because he found himself agreeing. He does love him. _Probably._ But then he also found himself scared. Shit scared. He wasn’t sure if his mind agreed in the heat of the moment because there was definitely no heat. It wasn’t even intimate or sweet or romantic. It was just Jaehyun teasing him in the middle of an art exhibit in front of an apparently erotic painting. It was Jaehyun jokingly saying, ‘you love me,’ and Taeyong’s mind automatically replying, ‘damn right, I do.’

Taeyong looked at the younger again, just to see if anything would change. But when Jaehyun smiled sheepishly at him, his heart tumbled in his chest. _Nope, dammit, I’m fucked,_ he decided. Nothing changed, he still thinks the same. If Jaehyun says it again, no matter how unserious, _you love me,_ Taeyong would probably still agree, _I do._

_Holy fucking shit,_ he thought. Terrified was not even enough of a word to describe how he felt. But _fuck_. He still wanted to say it. He wanted to proudly tell Jaehyun “I do, I love you.” Because he does, and he has all this love to give.

But the loud pounding of his heart echoed the distant memories of his past affair, of hurt and rejection, of _‘I love you’_ s being replied to with _‘haha’_ s and avoiding gazes, of being accused that he loved himself a little too much that it’s easy for him to lose the love he has for others, of believing that venomous tongue and losing himself in the process while trying to be enough for someone who can never be contented. The fear crept up from his stomach and paralyzed the words at the tip of tongue.

So he didn’t say it just yet. Not right then. And the voice died down in his throat like embers going off in a wisp of smoke. But that’s when he knew.

  
  


Three days later, Taeyong found himself sitting at the corner of his bedroom by the window. He was holding a paintbrush and god, how foreign it felt in his hands. He held it up, unmoving, against a blank canvas that he bought during one of his many episodes of thinking he could overcome himself. He never succeeded. But today, for some reason, he felt like trying again even if he felt like a child learning how to write for the first time.

He closed his eyes and exhaled. _Try_. 

It took him a minute, maybe two or five… or twenty-seven. But finally, _finally,_ he allowed it to flow out of him just as it’s been wanting to for the past many months, the passion, the ideas; allowed himself to breathe his art into life even if he had to do it in small gasps of air; allowed himself to fucking try again. The moment his brush moved, the world around him faded. Suddenly it was just him and his canvas in his own little world. 

In his mind, there was the image of Jaehyun’s lips before Taeyong kisses it in the morning. His brush danced along the canvas almost as if it had a mind of its own, outlining his thoughts in a pretty peach color. Taeyong exhaled. _Wow, I’m so fucked,_ he thought, suddenly realizing he wasn’t sure what’s making his heart beat this fast: his art or his muse.

He let himself drown in his own head but it was fine. He knows how to breathe in these waters, knows how to get himself back up. The fear of losing something he left on the surface, of people giving up because they can’t see him in the depths, was still there but it was quiet. Because this time, he knows he loses nothing, not anyone, not his career, not himself. Because Jaehyun showed him that he doesn’t have to choose where to pour his heart out: Jaehyun or himself. Not with Jaehyun. Never with him, Taeyong hopes.

It took him hours. He didn’t realize he was hungry until he felt satisfied with his work. Unfinished, it still was, but Taeyong doesn’t hate it at all and that’s his only criteria for letting himself rest. _Tomorrow,_ he told himself, _I’ll try again._

He put down his paintbrush and stretched his back, groaning at the fatigue. Taeyong looked at his work again, at the image of Jaehyun's lips and his chin dipping against the pillow. He was more than satisfied. So rest, he did.

Around 8PM, Jaehyun came over without Taeyong asking him to. “You weren’t replying. I got worried,” he said. Taeyong muttered sorry but Jaehyun just shrugged and handed him the banana muffins he bought from his friend from work. Jaehyun thought Taeyong would like them and he was right. The muffins were heavenly.

At 9PM, they finished the dinner Taeyong managed to whip up from scratch. Jaehyun pulled him to the couch and kissed him senseless. By then, Taeyong was growing suspicious. Could his day really be this good? The universe doesn’t usually allow it, not for him, its least favorite child. So it makes him wonder if a shitstorm is on its way. Nothing came though.

When the clock struck 10, Jaehyun was still busy drawing random circles around Taeyong’s hip bones while they snuggled on the couch. So the latter already knew he won’t be spending tonight alone.

None of them have talked for twenty minutes, just enjoying each other’s company in silence as Jaehyun scrolled through his phone while Taeyong sat between his legs, scanning through a magazine. It was quiet, so when the younger let out an exhausted sigh, it was hard to miss.

“You okay?” Taeyong asked, shifting in his tiny space on the couch to look at his boyfriend.

Jaehyun nodded, but Taeyong knew better.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Just tired,” Jaehyun replied. “Work.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

Jaehyun shook his head.

“You sure? I’ll just listen.” Taeyong took Jaehyun’s hands and kissed the back of it softly.

“I’m just really glad I have you,” Jaehyun said with a smile before frowning momentarily. “I mean... I do, right? Have you…?”

Taeyong laughed, his chest vibrating against the younger’s. It wasn’t rare to hear Jaehyun appreciate Taeyong in every sense of the word. But it was pretty rare to hear him say it like this, almost vulnerable. “You’re seriously asking now?”

Jaehyun was hesitant with his reply. “Yes…?”

“Of course, you have me, idiot,” Taeyong mumbled, suddenly feeling shy. It’s bubbling in his chest again, that _I do_ feeling in the art exhibit. He tried to ignore it, but it’s hard when Jaehyun was looking at him like he was the moon.

Taeyong didn’t notice it at first but watching how Jaehyun’s face relaxed at his words, he realized there were tension lines at the edges of his lips and the corners of his eyes. Taeyong took his time to study the faint traces they left behind until Jaehyun didn’t allow him to.

The younger began planting butterfly kisses in Taeyong’s arms, his wrists, his fingers, effectively distracting him. He paused halfway, looking at the older with something between shock and excitement. “Hyung,” he said, eyes lighting up. “You painted.”

“What?”

Jaehyun was chuckling now, still looking surprised. “Your hand smells like turpentine.”

Taeyong bit back a gasp and shrugged. He pulled his arm away from the younger, suddenly feeling conscious. He knows how unpleasant turpentine smells to those who are not used to it. “It’s nothing serious. Just started on… something,” he said. He doesn’t mention how Jaehyun has literally been his muse, how his lips are what Taeyong has been thinking about all day. 

“But it _is_ serious,” Jaehyun said giddily. “How long did you say it has been since the last time you held a brush?”

“Just two years.”

“Not _just_ ,” the younger scoffed. “That’s two years of not doing something you’re very passionate about. It’s two years too much!”

Taeyong pursed his lips, not knowing what to say. So Jaehyun continued.

“I know you were growing frustrated. I’ve seen how you look at the exhibits that feature newbie artists. I’ve seen you force some smiles when you organize it for them. I know we haven’t known each other that long but I know you, hyung. And I know you want to be where they are too.” He kissed Taeyong’s knuckles once again. “I know you’ll get there.”

“You believe in me too much,” Taeyong said, trying to pass off as nonchalant. But in reality, his heart was starting to pound on his ribcage like it’s a snare drum. This feels foreign, this kind of support. Taeyong doesn’t know how to react.

“I do,” Jaehyun replied, pecking Taeyong on the lips this time.

“Blindly believing in me when you haven’t even seen any of my works.” Taeyong snorted. “For someone who spends a lot of time in museums, I expected more from you, Jae. Not gonna lie,” he said jokingly.

Jaehyun laughed. “I just trust that if your art reflects how you see the world, then it must be extremely beautiful.”

The older scrunched his nose. “Corny,” he mumbled. But there were already tears pricking the back of his eyes. _I’m so, so,_ so _fucking fucked,_ he thought, because Jaehyun has everything that he has hungered to have from the people he loved in the past. His eyes hold genuine admiration and pride when they look at Taeyong, as if flowers grow on the surfaces he touches. Taeyong indulges in it because he never had anyone who cared enough to know about his heart, about what it wants to shout and what it wants to hold in silence. But suddenly, there’s Jaehyun who knows and who cares, and he’d kiss Taeyong’s knuckles until he takes his words like gospel. And it’s so fucking crazy because Jaehyun wants nothing in return except for the assurance that Taeyong is there to kiss his worries away too when he comes to him after a long day. A fair trade, Jaehyun said, but Taeyong doesn’t think so. He believes he has two feet in the receiving end while Jaehyun only has one.

“Is this why you haven’t replied to me the whole day?” Jaehyun asked.

Taeyong froze, all the good and great drained out from his chest faster than he could exhale, all of it replaced by horror and poisons and problems he supposedly left in the past. The line of questioning was all too familiar, too loud even if Jaehyun didn’t shout it. Before he could stop it, the images came rushing to him again. _You only ever cared about yourself,_ the voice said, morphed and faded like it was under water, _You wouldn’t even have a chance at success without me._ Taeyong shook his head. No. Stop. Jaehyun will never say anything like that because he understands, because he would never make Taeyong choose. _You have to stop comparing him to assholes_ , Taeyong scolded himself, _he deserves better than that_.

The fear didn’t go away. Trauma is a fucked up friend, he thought. But it was silenced a bit so his reply came as meekly. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Baby, don't say sorry.” Jaehyun laughed lightly before pulling him closer and kissing him again. “God I’m so happy for you. You have no idea.”

Taeyong pouted as his heart raced even more. He wasn’t going to cry, he told himself, but Jaehyun was making it very difficult for him. Nevertheless, he tried to downplay his affection again. “Well, you can’t be _that_ happy. You had a bad day at work,” he said, voice already a bit shaky.

“Believe me, I am,” Jaehyun replied simply. “Is that bad?”

Taeyong didn’t reply. He never really felt this, sharing his happiness with someone else. Mostly because he never really had anyone he wanted to share it with, also because he didn’t really think anyone would care, not even the people he loved. Obviously, Jaehyun loves to prove him wrong. It felt strange though, he thought, because no one really understood why this is important. No one ever really understood how his art flows through his veins, often stuck in inexistence because his insecurities always get the better of him, never disappearing but always hidden with a veil of fake confidence. Jaehyun does, or at least, he comes the closest to understanding.

Taeyong’s pout somehow grew bigger that Jaehyun began to mirror it with his own lips.

Those lips. _God._ He remembers how he painted them, the plumpness and pinkness of it. He didn’t become satisfied until he felt like it conveyed the same feeling he gets when he holds those lips lightly in between his teeth or when he presses it against his own. If he could see the world the way he sees Jaehyun’s lips, then he must agree with the younger’s previous statement, it’s extremely beautiful.

“What?” Jaehyun said.

“What?” Taeyong echoed. His chest was hurting now, like fluid was filling up in his lungs and the pressure was getting too much that he couldn’t breathe.

“You look like you wanna kiss me.”

“I do.” Breathless.

Taeyong rushed forward, stopping abruptly only when he was barely an inch from Jaehyun’s lips, so close that he could feel the younger’s breath fanning over his mouth, almost ticklish, but not too close that he could no longer look at the other’s eyes.

He tried to fight it, that strong feeling punching the air out of his lungs, the intense desire of declaration. He’s still scared. Even if he believes Jaehyun wouldn’t hurt him, even if he trusts that he won’t, he couldn’t tell if the love he has to give would be returned. He doesn’t know how love looks like in anyone's eyes when they look at him because he never really saw it. So he was fucking terrified, but he also couldn’t hold all of these emotions in.

Jaehyun smiled, equally as intoxicated. “What?”

“I love you,” he breathes, a dam breaking loose, a lion breaking free from its cage, “Is that bad?” 

And perhaps for the first time in his life, Taeyong didn’t feel like he was part of the unlucky few, because his wait merely took a few seconds, a minute at most. The answer did not come as a cruel _haha_ or an avoiding gaze, but a slight shake of the head and a crash of lips against his, catching him in an exhale. Tongues dancing with each other and teeth grazing ever so slightly against soft skin, almost sucking the air out of his lungs not by force but by mere passion. And when all that’s left was nothing but a gasp to revive the remains of his interrupted exhale, he heard it being whispered back.

“I love you, too.”

That night, Taeyong thought maybe he is the universe’s favorite every once in a while.

  
  


❋❋❋

  
  


When Taeyong tunes back into the present, Jaehyun’s after midnight snack session seems to have ended. The younger asks if he still wanted to finish his tea. Taeyong shakes his head no, jumping off to stand up from the younger’s lap. 

“Bed?” Taeyong asks, hand outstretched for Jaehyun to take.

“I have to brush my teeth first,” the younger replies, but he took his hand anyway.

Taeyong pouts.

“Hey, don’t complain. You don’t even wanna kiss me properly like this.”

But Taeyong lips only puckered out more.

Jaehyun chuckled softly before kissing him lightly on the cheek. “Go. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“I’m brushing my teeth too. You gave me tea.”

In the bathroom, Taeyong leans against the wall as he watches his boyfriend through half-lidded eyes. The movement of Jaehyun’s brush against his teeth echoes louder than Taeyong’s softer strokes. The younger always does things more aggressively as if he’s running on a clock. Taeyong thinks it’s because of how he’s conditioned at work, always working on a deadline, always moving against time.

He’s learned to appreciate it though, learning to ride those violent waves after realizing they never really seem to reach his shores. With him, Jaehyun has always been gentle. Even the most passionate of his kisses were delicate, hard enough that Taeyong could feel it burn against his skin but not too much that it would scald. Unfortunately, even his gentleness didn’t stop their slowest seconds from feeling like they were stolen moments from time. Especially lately.

When they finally get into bed, Jaehyun asks, “Will you kiss me properly now?” 

Taeyong replies by planting his lips on the younger, still chaste and quick. He feels Jaehyun smile into the kiss before he pulls away, settling on their shared space under the blanket in the middle of the bed.

“How much longer before you have to get up?” Taeyong asks, eyes already closed as he burrows his head into Jaehyun’s chest.

“Three and a half hours probably.”

“So four?”

“Three and a half.”

“Four.” Taeyong’s grip on Jaehyun’s shirt grew tighter.

“Fine,” Jaehyun sighs. “Four. I’ll just skip breakfast.”

Taeyong groans, defeated. “Three and a half.”

Jaehyun laughs, his chest’s thundering vibrations echoing on Taeyong’s body. “You won’t even be awake when I have to go.”

“Wake me up then,” Taeyong says.

“I always do. It never works.”

“Just kiss me goodbye, at least?”

“I always do.”

  
  
  


Five minutes of those three and a half hours came and went. This time, Jaehyun is the one who whispered “I love you,” in exchange for _goodnight,_ and Taeyong is the one who’s already too asleep to hear it, too tired to mumble it back.

How many more times do they have to miss each other like this? Jaehyun wonders. He doesn’t want to admit it. But like Taeyong, it’s starting to scare him a little too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhh i hope i was able to portray falling in love enough hahaha AAAAA that's such a sappy thing to say lmaooo. anw enjoy it while it lasts :] also, as cliche as it is, my mind kept playing lover by taylor swift while writing this. oh and also truly i love you by gogang!! so... yeah.
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/pandorxsbox) | [cc](https://curiouscat.com/pandorxsbox)


	3. topple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> — of falling out of balance and out of sorts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmm so, there's a reason why the rating is mature. sexual content ahead, nothing too explicit tho :]

**_Fall,_ ** _v._

_— to lose one’s balance and become unsteady_

The next morning is met with a half-empty bed and a half-certain memory of a kiss on the cheek and a soft mutter of _I_ _love you_ instead of a goodbye or see you later.

Taeyong grabs his phone from the bedside table to check the time. It’s already half past nine. He has 11 text messages, 2 missed calls, and an email from the museum. He opens the only notification his eyes focused on, choosing to ignore the rest until he's in a better state of mind. 

**_Jaehyunie (6:59 AM)_ **

_don’t get mad at the mess on the table._

_was in a hurry. woke up late lol_

_but you got your four hours so u can’t complain :P_

_p.s. i tried to wake you up_

_love you_

Taeyong shakes his head, smiling to himself. He was expecting to see a pile of dirty dishes on the kitchen sink, but instead he finds a half-eaten toast and a cup of half-cold coffee. He clicks his tongue and sighs in frustration.

**_TY (9:33 AM)_ **

_jung jaehyun!!!!!_

_what kind of breakfast is a half-toast and two sips of coffee?!?!_

**_Jaehyunie (9:34 AM)_ **

_a quick one?_

_hahahaha good morning to you too :)_

_i bought bagels otw to work dont worry_

_also, didn’t i say you can’t complain >:(_

**_TY (9:34 AM)_ **

_that is not fair >:(_

**_Jaehyunie (9:35 AM)_ **

_all’s fair in love and war baby_

_u told me that_

**_TY (9:35 AM)_ **

_ >:(_

**_Jaehyunie (9:35 AM)_ **

_stop being cute im in a meeting_

**_TY (9:36 AM)_ **

_ >:( fine. what time will you get home?_

**_Jaehyunie (9:36 AM)_ **

_idk yet but probably late again_

_the monthly report’s next week so,, :(_

**_TY (9:36 AM)_ **

_oh :( okay._

_see you later then._

_goodluck!_

**_Jaehyunie (9:36 AM)_ **

_dont miss me :)_

**_TY (9:36 AM)_ **

_lol sure thing_

**_Jaehyunie (9:37 AM)_ **

_ >:(_

**_TY (9:37 AM)_ **

_:P_

**_Jaehyunie (9:37 AM)_ **

_gtg now. love you baby_

**_TY (9:37 AM)_ **

_love you!_

  
  


Taeyong half throws his phone on the dining table, slightly panicking as it lands with a clumsy clutter, almost toppling over the edge. It didn’t though. He attempts to bite into Jaehyun’s toast, frowning as soon as his teeth dig into it. It was already bland and soggy so he makes a face, spits the piece out, and throws the whole thing in the trash. He checks his phone again just to see if Jaehyun replied (he didn’t) before pouring himself some cereal.

Days are usually not that interesting for Taeyong, especially lately after he chose to focus more on completing his collection than working in galleries. It’s almost the same from the moment he wakes up to some time in the afternoon: send Jaehyun a good morning text, answer emails while forcing breakfast down his throat (he thinks everything tastes like shit in the morning), take a shower, clean whatever there is to clean, go out to buy art supplies cause he somehow always needs (nope, wants) something new, have lunch if he’s hungry, watch ten minutes of a drama (he never has enough patience to finish an episode), spend a good thirty minutes staring at the ceiling, procrastinating as Lauv plays in the background, remember his goals and priorities, feel like absolute shit for forgetting about them, and _then_ finally start on his pieces. 

If he’s lucky, Jaehyun calls him some time in between. Today, he doesn’t. So Taeyong took longer with the procrastination ft. Lauv and feeling like absolute shit part.

Sometime around 3PM, Taeyong enters his tiny studio, the familiar smell of paint and turpentine greets him like a friend. He wears his dirty apron and decides to pull his hair back in a headband. _Not bad,_ he thought, staring at his work in progress. He steps forward, then back, then sideways, then back. He tilts his head to the left, then to the right, sighs three times, chews on his lip, and his mind begins to work in a way he couldn’t express. He sees it all, every point he wants to fix, every color that feels a bit out of place, every detail that he needs modified. 

“‘Mkay,” he says to himself as he grabs his paintbrush, the desire to create consuming him all too quickly. Finally, everything starts to fade and into his own head, he dives.

  
  
  


Jaehyun comes home late again just as he told Taeyong. The apartment was dark when he came in as if no one had been there the entire day. There was only the faint glow of the streetlight outside their window and the speck of light seeping through the tiny space under the studio door.

“Hyung?” Jaehyun calls as he flicks the lights on. No reply.

The dining table is empty. No dinner, no leftovers. It’s fine, he shrugs to himself. He’s not hungry. His boss bought takeouts for everyone. But that’s not what he’s worried about. Did Taeyong even eat?

He knocks on the door twice before twisting the handle, staying in his position even as it swings open. Jaehyun lets out a sigh. Taeyong couldn't hear anything, he realized. His ears are plugged and he’s probably listening to his productivity playlist (i.e. loud foreign music he doesn’t understand) on full blast. The older is standing atop his three-step ladder, tending to a spot at the corner of the canvas. Jaehyun knew he’s working on details which meant he’s way too focused on his work to think of anything else. Is it bad to ask for a welcome home kiss though? Is it right that it makes him feel guilty?

“Hyung,” he tries. “Baby.” Again. “Taeyong.” And again. No reply. Jaehyun sighs. He has never hated airpods as much as he did at that moment. He tries one more time, “Yong-ah,” before he figures it’s no use, so he steps out in defeat and closes the door gently.

In the shower, he lets the warm water wash it all away, the stress, the exhaustion, the frustration. It works a little bit. For a while, he could feel his muscles relax. But as soon as he steps back into the cold autumn night, he once again wishes he had some arms to greet him in an embrace. And once again, he gets disappointed when it doesn’t come.

After putting on his pajamas, he goes back to the studio and tries one more time. “Hyung.”

It works this time. He seems to have caught him at the ending of a song. Taeyong turns around, surprised. “Jae,” he beams. He drops his brush and rushes forward to meet Jaehyun, eyes lighting up like bonfires, warm and cozy. They share a quick kiss, more of a smack. “How come you’re all showered up already?”

Jaehyun shrugs.

Taeyong tilts his head. “Thought you said you were gonna be late?”

“I was. It’s already midnight, love.” Jaehyun smiles kindly, putting his hand on either side of Taeyong’s waist. The latter only takes a step closer but his hands remain untouching, careful not to touch Jaehyun while his hands are dirtied with different colors. 

“It is?”

Jaehyun nods. “Are you done here?”

“I could be done for the day,” Taeyong replies.

So Jaehyun smiles and claims a proper kiss. Taeyong gives it to him, slow and soft as he pulls him even closer. Flames, Jaehyun thought, that’s what he wants to feel. His tongue slots in between the older’s lips and Taeyong grants him entrance, their mouths pliantly dancing against each other as it always does. Taeyong tastes like cola and something else. Maybe he had some takeout for dinner too. At least he’s not forgetting to take care of himself. That’s good enough for Jaehyun.

He cups Taeyong’s ass and pulls him until he couldn't anymore, applying some pressure between his legs. Taeyong lets out a sound between a groan and a moan, and it was more than enough to get it going for the younger. Jaehyun pushes further, harder, a little too much that Taeyong almost topples backwards. The latter had to take a step back to keep himself on his feet, groaning into the kiss but not pulling away. Jaehyun took that as a sign. He slips his hand under Taeyong’s shirt, caressing his skin until he reaches the small of his back. He guides Taeyong backwards, slow and clumsy, until the back of the older's thighs hit the edge of the table where he lays out his paint bottles and color samples. Jaehyun sucks on Taeyong’s bottom lip, harsh and needy, pulling the older’s body against his, taking in whatever he could in a heated kiss.

Taeyong pushes his forehead against Jaehyun, pulling away from his lips with a sigh. “Bad day at work? You seem frustrated.” Taeyong grins.

“Just missed you,” Jaehyun mumbles, kissing the corner of his lips.

“You say that a lot.” Taeyong’s voice strained as Jaehyun began nipping on his neck. 

Jaehyun chuckles lightly before letting out a loaded sigh. “Baby, can we…? Tonight? Just, I—”

Taeyong cuts him with another kiss and nods. He pulls away once again and breathes. “Let me just shower first. Can I? I have paint everywhere. I’ll be quick. I promise. Please?”

“Yeah. Go,” Jaehyun says with a heavy exhale, letting Taeyong slip away from his arm, smacking his ass playfully as he exits the room.

When he’s left alone, he stares at the canvas Taeyong has been working on. It’s still the fall painting. It’s coming much more alive now, Jaehyun thinks. But knowing Taeyong, it’s most likely just halfway done. Jaehyun already loves it though. It feels familiar, the groove of the lines and the synergy of the colors. He could almost feel as if he’s back in that art gallery, meeting the love of his life for the first time; could almost feel the same feeling he had at _that_ moment, almost as if nothing had changed. Just almost.

Jaehyun returns to their room after making sure the paint bottles are closed and the lights inside the studio are off. _I’ll just close my eyes,_ he told himself like a fool, like he wasn’t exhausted, like it wasn’t a trap. He falls into it, into sleep, into the routine of asking for something and not getting it. He doesn’t even notice it because he was already snoring softly when Taeyong comes back after 3 minutes, keeping his promise of a quick shower. When Taeyong gently shakes him and kisses him softly on the neck, mumbling “I’m here, baby,” he doesn’t notice that too.

  
  
  


At 6:30 AM, Jaehyun finishes his toasts. He eats two of it this time because he won’t hear the end of it if he spends a second day having a ‘quick breakfast.’ After taking a shower, he saunters back into their bedroom, naked except for the towel wrapped around his waist. He moves slowly, quietly, afraid he might wake Taeyong up, as if he doesn’t desperately want him to. It’s the same old routine everyday. He dresses himself up in yet another suit, yet another tie. He watches Taeyong squirm and kick the covers, wishing he’d wake up even if Jaehyun knows he won’t. He grabs his watch from the vanity table, checks himself in the mirror, fixes his hair until he’s satisfied. Then he sits at the side of the bed and gently nudges his boyfriend.

“I’m leaving,” Jaehyun says softly. No reply. Typical.

He leans down and plants a kiss on the older’s forehead, mumbling the usual thing, “Love you.” Jaehyun suddenly wonders if it’s still a promise or just a purposeless habit, then he becomes horrified that the thought even crossed his mind.

Taeyong hums. That’s the only reply. Typical.

Jaehyun kisses him one more time before grabbing his bag and heading out the door.

The day proceeds normally. Work greets him with a stack of paper piled up on his desk and a yellow post-it with a messy “ _Meeting with Mr. Li at 10AM. Conference room #5. Bring July report. Thx. ~DY”_ scribbled on it in their team manager’s handwriting. Jaehyun frowns. Why is Doyoung the one telling him about this?

“Where’s the intern?” Jaehyun asks on his way to the pantry.

“His _name_ is Sungchan.” Doyoung rolls his eyes. “He called in sick.”

Jaehyun pouts. He wishes he could call in sick too, just spend an entire day at home with Taeyong. They could sit on the couch and pretend to enjoy cliché romance films until Taeyong starts a game of tickling the back of Jaehyun’s knees with his toes. Jaehyun would shoot him a fake-annoyed look that does absolutely nothing so he’d kiss him instead, and Taeyong would climb onto Jaehyun’s lap, run his fingers along the hairs on his nape, and pull on it because he knows it drives the younger crazy. Then Jaehyun would take him right there on the couch, both of them giving zero fucks about the fact that the couch creaks like hell and the walls aren’t that soundproof.

Unfortunately though, he can’t call in sick to spend a day at home. He’s in charge of too much and there’s really not many people who could do what he does. Even if he could, the guilt would eat his insides for leaving Doyoung to do his job. So he just sighs before returning to his desk with a cup of coffee and a shitload of stuff to do. 

At 9:50AM, his friend Johnny from the social media department comes in to pick them up for the meeting. He had a ridiculous smile on his face. Apparently, Mr. Li’s “kinda hot and definitely not a 60 year old shriveled up human being” like Johnny imagined him to be. Jaehyun caught Doyoung rolling his eyes at Johnny’s excitement but he doesn’t mention anything.

Sometime around 4PM, Jaehyun decided to take a break. He calls Taeyong just because. The latter picks up after two rings, greeting him with a very sweet, “‘Sup?”

“‘Sup to you too?” he says with a laugh.

Taeyong makes a choking sound at the other end of the line. “Ohmygod, it’s you. Hey love!” A can clatters in the background and Taeyong grunts. “Sorry, I didn’t check my phone before picking up. Yuta said he was gonna call so I thought it was him. What’s up?”

Jaehyun hums. “Why’s Yuta gonna call?”

“He said he needs help on something,” Taeyong answers.

“Oh.”

Nakamoto Yuta, Taeyong’s best friend from college. The one who has pulled him out of several downward spirals, saved him from his own insecurities when it almost ate him alive. The person who used to like Taeyong in _that_ way before their friendship became too important to risk on a shitty date. Taeyong’s anchor and shield way before Jaehyun came. Something about that man stirs an ugly feeling inside Jaehyun but he has always refused to name it.

Taeyong senses it though and he knows exactly what it is. “He just needs me to check if the sculpture he wants to buy is worth its price,” he says, and when Jaehyun doesn’t speak, he continues, “What time will you be home?”

“Not sure yet. I have to finish a report. Doyoung’s been bugging me about it. So probably late…?”

He hears Taeyong breathing at the other end of the line but the latter doesn’t reply. Jaehyun knows he should say something, ‘you don’t have to wait up’ or ‘don’t stay up too late,’ but the selfish part of him kept his lips sealed. So the seconds tick by in silence and the feeling of losing precious time is starting to build up underneath his skin.

Taeyong beats him to speaking first. “So... I’ll see you later.”

“Of course.” Jaehyun smiles despite himself. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” Taeyong ends the call.

That night, Jaehyun comes home to a dark apartment yet again, though the dining table wasn’t empty this time. There was a tupperware with a post-it on top of it, saying ‘ _2 nights too late but just in case u sneak out of bed again :) i love u.’_ It’s a tuna sandwich. Jaehyun smiles to himself.

Judging by the empty bed, Taeyong is probably still inside his studio, probably has his ears plugged again, too busy making magic with his own thoughts to care about the rest of the world. So Jaehyun figures he’ll take a shower first before coaxing the other to join him in bed. After refreshing himself and getting dressed, he goes to open the studio door. What he saw made his heart clench in a way he doesn’t like.

Taeyong fell asleep with his body bent on the table, head resting on an outstretched arm while the other covered his eyes. His mouth is slightly open, wet at the downward corner. His phone lies quietly nearby. Jaehyun presses on the lock button to check the time. _12:31 AM_ , it says on the clock. But that is not the only thing his eyes took in. There were several notifications from Yuta, pretty much explaining what happened:

**_Na Yuta (10:56 PM)_ **

_Guess you’re asleep lol you stopped talking_

_Anw I’ll send you the details tomorrow. Just rest. You look like shit._

_Jk_

_Thanks Tae_

Oh. 

Okay.

Taeyong probably fell asleep while they were on the phone, talking about sculptures or whatever it is Yuta needed help with. Knowing Taeyong, he probably wouldn’t even have sat down if the call didn’t drag on for more than ten minutes. It’s been almost two hours since Yuta’s texts. Taeyong must have been so exhausted to stay in such an uncomfortable position that he didn’t realize the hours passing by. 

Something inside Jaehyun’s chest twists and stings but he chooses to ignore it. “Yong,” he says, kneeling beside the older. He takes Taeyong's hand that had been covering his eyes before planting soft kisses on his knuckles. “Baby,” he mumbles, “I’m home.”

Taeyong stirs after a few seconds, lifting his head like it weighed a ton before looking at Jaehyun, disoriented. “Hey,” he utters, voice croaky. He clears his throat. “What time is it?”

“Half past midnight,” Jaehyun replies.

“Already?” Taeyong lifts his arms up and stretches his back, groaning as he bends his neck in different directions. “How long was I asleep?” 

“Two hours. Approximately.” Jaehyun adjusts his position so that he’s kneeling between Taeyong’s thighs. He reaches around the older’s torso, fumbling for the ribbon of his dirty apron, untying it before removing the strap around his neck.

Taeyong pouts, placing his arms on Jaehyun’s shoulders. “My neck hurts.”

“You slept weirdly.” Jaehyun chuckles. “Were you tired?”

Taeyong shrugs but his eyes flutter close again.

Jaehyun kisses him on the tip of his nose. “Carry you to bed?”

“‘Mkay.”

Jaehyun wraps Taeyong’s legs around his waist and tells him to hold on tight. His thighs almost rip open and his knees nearly give way but he manages to stand up without toppling over while Taeyong clings onto him like a koala. The older buries his face on the crook of Jaehyun’s neck and mumbles, “Am I heavy?”

“No, but I realize I need to take leg days more seriously.” Jaehyun grunts.

Taeyong laughs lightly and tightens his hold around the younger. Somehow, that makes it easier to carry him across the apartment without breaking a sweat.

Once they settle into bed, Taeyong kisses him on the lips, soft and tender. “Sorry for last night,” he whispers as he pulls away.

“Why?”

“I wasn’t quick enough with the shower.”

Jaehyun laughs, incredulous. “It wasn’t your fault. I fell asleep.”

“Kinda my fault. I knew you wanted it but the water felt really nice.”

“Not your fault,” Jaehyun insists. After a few seconds of silence, he says, “Do you wanna do it tonight?”

Taeyong makes a tired sound that feels like a no but Jaehyun asks him again to make sure. “Too sleepy already, love,” Taeyong mumbles, eyes closed.

“Oh.” Jaehyun swallows. “Okay.”

“Sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“Mm.”

“...”

“Love you, Jaehyunie.” _Goodnight._

_Goodnight._ “Love you.”

  
  


The next day passes by similarly. The intern—Sungchan shows up at work. (To be fair, he does look like he’d gotten sick.) Jaehyun submits the report he’s been working on last night and Doyoung thanks him for it. Johnny shows up again with a shit-eating grin telling everyone that he got Mr. Li’s number. Doyoung rolls his eyes at him before saying he had Mr. Li’s number even before he showed up in that meeting. Johnny just makes a face at him. Jaehyun just smiles and watches in silence because he knows exactly why Doyoung is being grumpy.

Taeyong calls him around lunch time. An old client has been asking for him so he had to go to the art gallery. He asks Jaehyun if he wanted to meet for lunch, but Jaehyun was scheduled for a lunch meeting that day. He says sorry. Taeyong tells him it’s not his fault but that doesn't stop him from saying his next words with a pout. He wishes Jaehyun goodluck nonetheless though.

It’s just a little past 10 PM when Jaehyun arrives at their apartment that night. He was hoping to pull Taeyong out of his own head earlier than usual, spend time with him a little bit more. But the studio lights were already off. There's a burger on the dining table. _Love you,_ the post-it says. It didn’t make him smile like it did the other night. 

He finds Taeyong curled up to himself in bed. Beautiful, as he always is, except his features hold the kind of serenity that isn’t there when he’s awake. Jaehyun loves this look on him, but he would be lying if he says he wasn’t disappointed. Still, there’s really nothing he could do, so he takes a shower and slips into bed. Taeyong reaches out to him as soon as he gets under the covers. Jaehyun finds himself smiling yet again. “Love you,” he mutters. Maybe it could still be a promise.

  
  


Saturday rolls in. Taeyong woke up early to catch Jaehyun leave. He’s starting on a new piece, he says. Apparently, he needs some time away from the fall painting. Jaehyun doesn’t really understand but he wishes him good luck anyway. Taeyong kisses him breathless before he leaves for work and, for a while, his worries from the previous nights almost drift away. Just almost.

That afternoon, Jaehyun has a meeting with a huge client. Taeyong sends him a goodluck text and a dozen heart emojis. Jaehyun thinks it’s cute, but he’s not really the one who needs it. Doyoung will be presenting the whole thing. Jaehyun will just be sitting there, nodding. So Taeyong sends another text wishing Doyoung goodluck. When Jaehyun tells the latter about it, he just frowns.

The meeting went by smoothly, of course. Count on Doyoung to be the perfect presenter and on Jaehyun to be the perfect charmer. They make a great team, Jaehyun believes. Their friendship may have started with this team manager-assistant manager dynamic, but that never stopped Doyoung from spilling a lot about himself to Jaehyun as if they’ve been friends for years. Doyoung thinks Jaehyun is too nosy for his own good, but people really just tend to tell Jaehyun things unprovoked. He’s charming that way.

That night, Jaehyun finds Taeyong in his studio once again. He appears to be inside his head more than usual so Jaehyun had a harder time convincing him to come to bed. Taeyong still allows him a few kisses but he begs Jaehyun to leave him be for “just a few more minutes.” 

Jaehyun obliges. He told himself he was gonna close his eyes for a while, too tired to wait for the few minutes Taeyong requested. When he opened them, it’s already 3 AM and Taeyong’s side of the bed is still empty.

“It’s three in the morning,” Jaehyun says upon opening the studio door. Taeyong's painting looked nothing like it did a while ago.

The older doesn’t even turn around to face him, hands still busy. “Just… wait.”

“Taeyong.” Jaehyun was surprised by the sternness in his own voice but even that doesn’t work on the older. “Yong,” he tries again.

Taeyong clicks his tongue. His next words come out in an impatient whine. “I’m almost done. Just… please.”

Jaehyun sighs. “Baby, come on. You can’t be working all night.”

At that, Taeyong finally turns around but only to shoot Jaehyun with a venomous look. “Jae, please. Fuck." He sighs. "I’ll go to bed in a while just _please_ go _._ ”

Jaehyun stares at him, waiting for him to soften up, to change his mind, to mutter a sorry like he always does. He doesn’t. And even if Jaehyun is annoyed as hell, pissed at whatever the fuck they’re turning into, he doesn’t argue. He's too tired. But he also doesn’t say sorry when he slams the door a little harder than he intended to.

  
  


The next day’s a Sunday. Jaehyun doesn’t work on Sundays, which means Sundays are for dates and couple stuff. He doubts that would be the case today though. He’s still not sure where he and Taeyong stand, not after what happened last night. Was that a fight? Is he mad? Is Taeyong mad? Who's at fault? He doesn’t know.

He goes out for a jog at 6AM because his body clock doesn’t let him sleep in even on weekends. It’s good though, a nice distraction for whatever is going on inside his head and at home. Thirty minutes into his jog, he sees Johnny at a cafe. The latter invites him for breakfast. Jaehyun said no, but Johnny was just too persuasive (his persuasion being “I’ll pay for everything.” Who would say no, right?). Jaehyun didn’t ask, didn’t even mention it, but Johnny begins to talk about Mr. Li—Ten, as he calls him. They went on a date last night. Jaehyun doesn’t really wanna know the details but Johnny tells him nonetheless. He told himself he won’t tell Doyoung, but he imagines Doyoung nagging him for a something as simple as using the wrong font, and suddenly, it’s kinda tempting.

He comes home around 9AM and guilt floods his insides. Taeyong cooked breakfast, a proper breakfast, with eggs, bacon, pancakes and all. As soon as Jaehyun comes in, Taeyong throws his arms around him, uncaring even if the younger is coated in sweat. He kisses him on the corner of his lips, waiting for Jaehyun to turn his head to meet him fully on the mouth. Jaehyun does exactly that.

“I’m sorry,” Taeyong says and Jaehyun almost cried. He doesn’t though.

He indulges in the food, because how often does Taeyong get to cook for him? Nowadays, almost never. So despite having a full stomach, Jaehyun stuffs himself some more, screw the fact that his early morning jog is completely useless now.

Taeyong asks him what he wants to do for the day. Jaehyun shrugs and lets him decide, because really, all he wants is some time with Taeyong, to feel like his again, to feel like having him again. Taeyong decides on Han river for some reason. It’s pretty in the fall, he says. Jaehyun likes it better in the spring but he doesn’t tell Taeyong that.

That afternoon though, Jaehyun decides he likes Han river in the fall too, only because it makes Taeyong’s eyes light up like bonfires again and Jaehyun misses seeing that. The cold air tinges Taeyong’s cheeks pink, making him shiver. He walks closer to Jaehyun, grabbing onto his arm as if that would make him feel warmer. Jaehyun lets him even if it makes walking harder because it’s been a while since he had Taeyong cling to him like he needs him to breathe. He misses that too.

When they got hungry, they decided to go to a ramen shop nearby. Taeyong orders that same spicy ramen that gets him sweaty and breathy after five slurps. Jaehyun orders something milder because he knows he has to switch with Taeyong when the older can no longer bear another bite. He was right.

“I can’t feel my lips,” Taeyong says. 

So Jaehyun kisses him until he's moaning against his lips. “Better?”

The older nods.

Jaehyun feels ecstatic. _This_ is how it used to be, Sunday dates on ramen shops, kissing each other like their lips are their lifelines, being in love, _feeling_ in love, taking their time with one another. This is what Jaehyun misses. It was almost as if the past few weeks hadn’t happened, as if nothing about them had changed.

He should’ve known it was too good to be true.

After they finished their bowls, Jaehyun suggested that they go to the art gallery in Hongdae. There's an exhibit that opened two days ago, it says on Naver. Taeyong nods but doesn’t speak. Jaehyun knows what that means. He doesn’t call it out just yet. But while they were waiting for a cab and Taeyong still wasn’t replying while Jaehyun told him about yesterday’s meeting, he was sure the older’s mind is elsewhere.

“Do you wanna go home?” Jaehyun asks.

“I thought we’re going to Hongdae?”

“Yeah, but you're obviously distracted. You're thinking about your piece?"

Taeyong nods.

"We should go back, so you can get to it.” Jaehyun doesn’t mean the venom inserted into his words. It was faint, but it was there. He could only hope Taeyong didn’t notice.

If he did, he didn't say anything about it. “Okay,” he mumbles instead. “Thank you.”

"It's okay," Jaehyun replies even when Taeyong didn't really say sorry.

When they get home at 8, Taeyong kisses Jaehyun on the lips. He mutters an ‘I love you’ before shutting himself inside his studio. Jaehyun hears the lock click. Distractions are unwelcome, that's what it meant. Jaehyun tries not to feel hurt about how he's now a distraction too.

That night, he doesn’t even knock on Taeyong’s door, doesn’t even try to invite him into bed. Distractions are unwelcome, he tells himself. He lays in bed and stares at the ceiling. For a while, he thinks about how hard it is to fall asleep without Taeyong by his side. The answer comes as he closes his eyes: it isn’t. It scares the shit out of him.

  
  
  


The following week comes. Nothing has changed except everything is somehow worse than before. Jaehyun doesn’t acknowledge it though. The only things he acknowledged were the facts that 1.) the intern’s name is Sungchan and 2.) Doyoung is terrible at hiding his feelings but Johnny is even more terrible at noticing them. 

He tries not to think too much of Taeyong. He calls when he calls, he doesn’t when he doesn’t. He comes to bed whenever he wants to and he makes sandwiches for Jaehyun when he feels sorry. Jaehyun doesn’t like any of it at all, but he thinks it’s easier this way.

  
  


On Thursday, Jaehyun comes home at 9 PM. The universe decides to bless him today. Taeyong is on the couch, browsing through a furniture catalogue, not painting, not working, just sitting there. Jaehyun knows he’s supposed to feel like shit for being this happy, but the fact is, he isn’t. He’s fucking excited that Taeyong isn’t inside his studio the same day he comes home at 9 fucking PM.

“Not busy today?” Jaehyun asks as he walks to the living room.

Taeyong throws the catalogue to the coffee table and welcomes Jaehyun with open arms. “Nope. How come you’re home early?”

Jaehyun shrugs, surrendering himself into Taeyong’s hold. They move around the couch until they find a comfortable position, with Jaehyun sitting against the armrest and Taeyong sitting between his legs. “Sungchan’s doing a great job at making graphs so I left him to it,” Jaehyun answers.

“Sungchan?”

“The intern.”

“Oh.”

They stay in silence for a while. Taeyong plays with Jaehyun’s fingers as the latter tries to silence his thoughts. There’s something about this atmosphere, something Jaehyun doesn’t like. An air of unfamiliarity exists where it’s not supposed to, not between them, not where no void is supposed to be.

“How’s your piece coming along?” Jaehyun asks just to have something to talk about.

“Getting there, I think,” Taeyong replies. He shifts in his seat until his entire body is facing the younger. He climbs onto his lap, a small pout forming on his lips.

“What?” Jaehyun’s hands find their way to the Taeyong's waist like an automatic response.

“Can I kiss you?”

Jaehyun chuckles. “Of course, baby. Why even ask?”

Taeyong shrugs. Maybe he feels the unfamiliarity too.

So Jaehyun takes it to himself to close the gap between them, getting rid of the space where no void should exist. Taeyong grabs Jaehyun’s collar, pulling him closer as the younger presses him down by the waist. Jaehyun groans as Taeyong rolls his hips against his, sucking on his lips harder. Taeyong trails his mouth to Jaehyun’s neck, nibbling on the part he knows is the most sensitive. Jaehyun moans, his grip on the older’s waist almost bruising.

Taeyong shifts his position without detaching his lips from Jaehyun’s skin. When his hands begin to fumble with the younger’s belt, Jaehyun knows he’s already a goner. Taeyong pulls Jaehyun’s slacks down and kisses him everywhere, his collarbones, the inside of his thighs, the skin right below his stomach, just above his base. Taeyong makes a mark there.

Jaehyun begs at one point and apparently, that’s all Taeyong has been waiting for. He takes him into his mouth, his tongue working skillfully, exactly the way it drives Jaehyun crazy. He kisses him on the tip and runs his tongue on the slit before swallowing him whole. Jaehyun throws away all constraints and moans the shit out of Taeyong’s name. He grabs the older’s hair and waits for the sign, two taps against his thigh, his consent to go harder, to be rougher. Taeyong gives it to him. Jaehyun fucks up into his mouth, and Taeyong moans against him. Taeyong reaches downwards to pump himself at the same time and Jaehyun almost comes at the sight. He absolutely fucking adores how Taeyong looks like this, with his beady eyes rimmed with tears, looking at him with need, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth full. Every sensation increases exponentially.

He warns Taeyong that he’s close, half-expecting for the older to pull away. He doesn’t. A few more thrusts and Jaehyun’s entire body is consumed with intense white pleasure, finding a release he didn’t realize he needed. Taeyong’s mouth lets go of Jaehyun with a pop, swallowing every drop of the younger’s load. Jaehyun merely watches as Taeyong continues to jerk himself off, his thighs shaking as he nears his release. He moans Jaehyun’s name, begging please for nothing, then he comes.

Taeyong collapses on top of him, never mind the mess between their bodies. Jaehyun kisses him, softer this time, but he could taste himself in Taeyong's mouth. He’s already spent but he is also still incredibly turned on, so he asks Taeyong if he wants to continue this in the bedroom. If this is a few months ago, Taeyong would’ve said yes, no question. But it’s not, so the older just shakes his head.

He’s tired, he says, and his back hurts from crouching in front of his painting all day. Jaehyun refuses to say he’s disappointed but there was no other way to name it. 

He asks Taeyong to join him in the shower. At least to that, Taeyong agrees. They kiss each other there but they don’t do anything more. Jaehyun loves the feeling of Taeyong’s finger pads massaging circles on his scalp and he loves it even more when Taeyong dries his hair after, so for a while, he forgets he wanted more.

He remembers it again though when they lie in bed. Jaehyun wrapped an arm around Taeyong’s waist from the back, and the latter squirms against him, his ass pressing against Jaehyun not-so-innocently… except it turns out it was completely innocent because when Jaehyun looked over at him, Taeyong has already surrendered to sleep.

He sighs to himself, defeated. “Love you,” he mumbled. This time, he thinks it’s just out of habit.

  
  
  


Jaehyun doesn’t realize he’s been scowling more than usual until Doyoung points it out during lunch. They decided to eat out today at some ramen place that Johnny has been craving for. Jaehyun sat in silence, picking on the toppings of his ramen, while the rest of the group talked about… something he clearly wasn't paying attention to.

“What’s with the face?” Doyoung asks, kicking him lightly under the table. “I know you hate meetings with Mr. Son—I mean, everyone does—but you usually keep a smile.”

“Nothing,” Jaehyun replies.

“What do you mean nothing? You haven’t even touched your food.”

“Just had ramen last weekend.” He shrugs.

“ _Or_ something’s bothering you,” Doyoung says. He elbows Johnny beside him a little too hard. 

Johnny had to pause mid-laugh to turn to his two friends. “What?!” he hisses at Doyoung, clearly annoyed that he had to tune out of the team’s conversation.

The latter nods towards Jaehyun. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing!” Jaehyun whines, at the same time Johnny mumbles, “A lot.”

“Nothing is wrong with me.” Jaehyun rolls his eyes, slurping a mouthful of noodles just to prove a point. He almost chokes on it, but he can’t show Doyoung that, not when he’s looking at him with suspicious eyes.

But of course, nothing slips under Doyoung’s nose unnoticed. Especially not when Jaehyun is shitty at hiding his frustrations. “It’s Taeyong, isn’t it?” the older says, eyes narrowing.

“Taeyong? Again?” Johnny butts in, suddenly more interested in this conversation than whatever the rest of the team is talking about.

Jaehyun frowns. “What do you mean _again?_ We don’t even fight that much.”

“Weird for a couple of three years if you ask me,” Johnny replies nonchalantly.

Jaehyun’s frown deepens. “This is why you’re never in a serious relationship.”

At that, Doyoung squirms in his seat uncomfortably. It was almost imperceptible, but Jaehyun knows Doyoung. At least he knows _this_ part of him, the part that’s been hopelessly pining for Johnny for about a year. Doyoung clears his throat like the professional emotional masker he is. “So, is it Taeyong?”

Jaehyun sighs. “Maybe, but—”

“God,” Johnny groans. “Is it still because of the same thing?”

“What same thing? How come you tell him more things than me? This is unfair. I tell you a lot of stuff,” Doyoung rambles, genuinely looking hurt.

“How come _you_ tell _him_ a lot of stuff? I thought we’re closer,” Johnny counters.

Doyoung rolls his eyes, but the faint blush on his cheeks does not go unnoticed by Jaehyun. “What same thing?” he repeats.

Johnny shrugs. “They don’t have sex anymore.”

Jaehyun’s mouth drops open. “That is _not_ —”

“Why, when’s the last time you guys had—”

“That’s _not_ the problem, for fuck’s sake,” Jaehyun groans loudly. A few people from the team shoot him a glance but don't say anything. Jaehyun ducks his head slightly, ears red in embarrassment.

“Answer him though,” Johnny says, “I’m also curious.”

Jaehyun stares at his friends incredulously. It’s not that they’re _entirely_ wrong. He just refuses to acknowledge that it’s something as shallow as him being sexually frustrated. He remembers last night, an extremely frustrating ‘almost,’ stolen by time and exhaustion. Is that why he’s feeling a bit out of sorts today? Jaehyun doesn’t want to believe it. 

It's not the lack of sex. It’s the hunger for intimacy, for being so close that only science can tell where his skin ends and Taeyong’s starts, for not feeling like they’re stealing moments from time, for giving up all of himself, knowing he has all of Taeyong in return. It’s the desire to feel flames again through something as simple as a question of 'have you had dinner?' and having someone to come home to after a long day at work. It's the fear inside of him, of the thought that sparks alone might not be enough to power a three year long relationship.

But then he thinks of the expanse of skin on Taeyong's back, how it makes Jaehyun breathless when he presses his chest against it. He remembers the narrowing of Taeyong’s waist and how amazing it feels to grip them so hard that it bruises as he chases both their highs. He remembers how Taeyong sounds when he’s broken and begging, moaning Jaehyun’s name like it’s a prayer. He sighs, giving up, already feeling uncomfortable between his legs. Fine, _maybe_ it’s the lack of sex too. Because _god_ , how he misses how Taeyong tastes.

“That’s not the problem,” Jaehyun says again, because even if he misses the sex, his friends didn’t have to know about it. “It just feels different... between us... lately.”

Doyoung frowns. “How so?”

“I don’t know. It's like," Jaehyun searches for the right words, "we’re falling out of balance, if that makes sense? We have too much on our plate. I come home to nothing, he wakes up to nothing. We've always been busy people but that didn’t used to be a problem. Now, I feel like it is.”

“Do you still make time for each other?” Johnny asks.

“Barely,” Jaehyun admits.

“So why don’t you?”

“It’s hard.” Jaehyun stabs an egg on his bowl with a chopstick. “He gets into his head a lot. That’s how he works. It used to be fine. But lately, I just, I don’t know... I can’t get into him. I can’t even convince him to sleep with me at night. And I literally mean just sleep—stop looking at me like that, hyung.”

Johnny lets out a fake gasp. “Mr. Persuasion is no longer persuasive.”

Doyoung shoots him with dart eyes before he turns to Jaehyun with gazes of concern. “I don’t understand,” he says. “Why don’t you do that disgusting stuff you always do, you know, with all the kissing until he gives up and stuff? That used to work, right?”

Jaehyun makes a face. It doesn't anymore.

“ _Or_ just drag him out of his studio.” Johnny sighs. “Why is that a problem? Demand some sweet loving! It’s not like you’re forcing him to commit murder. You deserve his time too. I don’t think it’s healthy that you’re always the one trying to make shit work. He has to try somehow, too. I’m not even looking at Doyoung but I know he agrees.”

Jaehyun raises an eyebrow at Doyoung who just shrugged. “Sweet loving is such a lame phrase to use but he’s right,” he says. “This isn’t the first time you felt left out of your own relationship. Remember last year, when he got that job in Incheon? You said you only saw each other for less than an hour everyday. Considering you guys live together, it's just weird.”

Of course Jaehyun remembers. Taeyong had been tasked to don the walls of a 4-star hotel in Incheon with artworks from all around South Korea. He comes home every night, drained and quiet, clearly exhausted. But back then, even when he literally looked like his work had sucked all the energy out of him, he still manages to conjure enough of it to be able to kiss Jaehyun softly and tell him about his day. He was still able to ask the younger how work has been and if he needs some de-stressing. Jaehyun was able to say _I love you_ exactly like a promise and Taeyong always said it back without any second guessing of what it really means. Now, there’s none of that at all. 

“Talk to him, Jae. I’m sure you can work it out,” Johnny says.

Jaehyun only forces a smile and nods. It's not that easy, he wanted to say, but they wouldn’t understand. They don’t know Taeyong. They don’t realize how he’s trying too, in the best way he knows how. They don’t know why he drowns himself like this, and why he tends to take advantage of Jaehyun’s support and understanding.

They don’t know how Taeyong regrets that he isn’t the son his parents wanted him to be, that he was pushed away by his own family for choosing a profession that made him a ‘useless’ asset in their company, how they made him choose between pursuing his art and having a family who would only support him for something that doesn't make him happy. They have no idea how it broke Taeyong that he had to choose, and how it crushed him even further that he decided to choose himself.

They don’t know about Han Jiseok, Taeyong’s miserable ex, who only took interest in his art to take advantage of his vulnerability. They don’t know how Taeyong gave himself up for that asshole, grateful to have someone finally appreciate him, only to find out that it’s all superficial. They don't know how Jiseok set Taeyong up for a chance at success, made Taeyong think that he hung the stars in his sky only to make Taeyong watch as he burned his entire galaxy down. They don't know how that asshole made Taeyong choose, yet again, between him or himself, and how Taeyong would've chosen Jiseok if it weren't for Yuta's tough love.

They don’t know the downward spirals. They don’t know the trips to hell. But Jaehyun does, and even if he wasn't there for them, he understands how much they changed Taeyong. He understands how he means to him, so he promised himself he wouldn’t be like any of the people in Taeyong’s past. He would _never_ make him feel guilty for having to choose himself, for living his dream, for breathing into his passion. He would never make Taeyong choose because he understands.

Or at least he tries to. _Almost_ always tries to. Just almost, because now, he doesn't. Right now, he can't. 

And rather than being scared that he no longer understands, he realizes he's getting tired of understanding.

  
  
  
  


Taeyong hears something outside his studio door as he drags a yellow stripe on the black part of the canvas. His mind doesn’t register what the noise was though. It's probably Jaehyun coming home. What time is it? He doesn’t know, doesn’t really care. He’s almost done anyway. Jaehyun would come in anytime to drag him to bed. Before he does, Taeyong wants to finish as much as he could.

He continues to work, his wrist moving like fluid, coloring the spaces he needed colored, forming the shapes he needed formed. Taeyong doesn’t realize the time passing by, doesn’t notice the ache in his joints for standing too long, for staying in positions that compromise his balance to get him to a specific part of the canvas in a specific way. He feels the temperature drop and rise, but he doesn't pay it any mind. He doesn’t notice anything around him, not until he hears something outside the studio door again. It distracts him for a moment, then he sees the beam of sunlight hitting the floor just beside his foot.

_Sunlight._ What the fuck. How long has he been painting? He goes to check his phone. _7:02 AM._ What the _fuck_.

He drops his brush, and gold paint splatters on the studio floor. Taeyong doesn't care. He runs to the bedroom. The bed is made just as he left it yesterday before disappearing into the studio. He could almost believe no one had slept there the night before, but the pillows are arranged in the way only Jaehyun does. He could still grasp the faint scent of Jaehyun’s perfume hanging crisply in the air, as if it had been sprayed only a few minutes ago. There was a post it on the headbord. " _Left for work xx - J."_ What the fuck, he thought again. Taeyong doesn't understand.

Yesterday had gone without him knowing. He had no idea of the minutes ticking away. Jaehyun didn't pull Taeyong back. He let him drown in his own head. Taeyong feels lost, his mind moving in spirals, a familiar feeling he doesn't like. How come? How come it's already 7 in the morning? Why didn't he notice the daylight arrive? How come Jaehyun didn't pull him back? Why did he just leave without saying goodbye?

Taeyong doesn't know how to understand, doesn't really know if he wants to. Yet, he asks the questions over and over again until his hands shake so much that his fingers don't remember how to hold a goddamn brush.

How come? How come there wasn't even a mumble of a half-assed I love you? How come he didn't even get a chance to say it too?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i realize this is different than the first two but we need Progression™ me thinks. anw i was in pain for more than half of this and i lowkey started to hate myself :D
> 
> will it get better? probably not in the next chapter, but eventually, maybe. who knows? please tell me what u think :>
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/pandorxsbox) | [cc](https://curiouscat.com/pandorxsbox)


	4. collapse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> — of falling apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI! IM SO SORRY FOR HOW LONG THIS IS. but before we start, three things u should know (please read these first especially number 3):
> 
> 1\. the beginning of this chapter is mostly taeyong's backstory. just wanna say sorry because it gets quite long so u might skip it. i won't blame you, but i just think it's relevant to know what happened to him in the past to understand his character in the present (??)
> 
> 2\. the rest of it is frustrating as fuck and probably loaded with domestic angst (IS THAT A THING? LOL IDK) so i just wanna give u a friendly and necessary reminder that NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS IN THIS CHAPTER, this fic will have a happy ending. just trust me if you dare :DD
> 
> 3\. !!! IMPORTANT: trigger warning !!!!! (and spoiler). this chapter is mostly, if not entirely in taeyong's pov. somewhere along the way, readers might begin to think that jh is cheating on him because that's what's going on inside taeyong's head. BUT!!! jaehyun is NOT. as it's been said in the previous chapters, trauma is a fucked up friend. it's just all in taeyong's head, and it's mostly just remnants of what he went through in the past, so i just want to warn you :>

**_Fall, n._ **

_— a loss of greatness; the act of falling out, off, or away._

Jaehyun was right. Taeyong did have a sad origin story of his own. Well, not even half as depressing as Van Gogh’s or Oscar Wilde’s, but sad enough to push him past his broken edges.

He had a lot going on since childhood. He wasn’t an unfortunate child but it also wasn’t so hard to tell he isn’t the son his parents wanted. He doesn’t love the people they wanted him to love; he doesn’t find joy in doing what they’d rather him do. He hated it, being branded the black sheep, all because he couldn’t, for the life of him, take any interest in spending his entire day on meetings and business proceedings and whatnot. 

_What’s so wrong with art?_ he always asked. _It’s useless,_ they replied. He used to believe them.

They never supported Taeyong. The only one who ever tried was his sister. She used to be his best friend, at least until the company brainwashed her til all she could think about was how she’d one day take over as CEO. Their parents love her. They held her on a pedestal while Taeyong cried by himself in the dark. They never really cared for what he wanted if it wasn’t the same as theirs. To them, he was just another chess piece, not even an important part. He was just a fucking pawn.

When the question came of whether to stay or go, he wondered why he still had to think of his decision. It should be easy. _Go,_ his mind said, but his legs gave up. It had him kneeling in front of his mother, begging to be seen as her child, to be loved, to be cherished. But she didn't even look at him when he said goodbye.  
  


College was different. Living in a 100 square feet dorm room after growing up in a mansion was a really humbling experience. He somehow managed to get a full scholarship but he still had to work several shifts to be able to pay for rent. It was fine. Taeyong learned not having everything at the edge of his fingertips was an okay way to live. Somehow, he’s happier than he ever was.

During third year, Taeyong met Yuta, a sports management major. They were attending the same Interpersonal Communications class. Their professor, Cho Sanghoon, a sixty-something genius who apparently had no plans to retire, kept mixing their names up. “You look like twins,” he said. 

Yuta got annoyed for some reason, so he started sitting beside Taeyong, partnering with him during pairworks just to mess with the professor (it worked). Taeyong just went with it. When Yuta told him it must be insulting on his part to hear someone say they look alike, Taeyong just frowned and shook his head no, not really. It took him three weeks to realize Yuta was throwing him a compliment. When he did, he punched the other in the arm. “That’s messed up. You should’ve just said I look cute,” Taeyong said.

“But you don’t look cute,” Yuta deadpanned. Taeyong just rolled his eyes.

It was easy being friends with Yuta. Unlike Taeyong, he doesn’t really have a problem with interpersonal communication. He talked easily about himself, about everything else. He made it easier for Taeyong to talk about himself too. So he loosens up a bit, but he doesn’t open himself up too freely just yet. Still, it was nice to make a friend.

They managed to keep close even after they graduated. They became a silent but constant force in each other’s lives. They saw each other a lot, mostly to make sure the other is surviving the adult life enough to make it through the week.

One drunken night, Yuta admitted he used to have a _tiny_ crush on Taeyong. Apparently, he hit on him for weeks when they first met, but literally every single line he threw in Taeyong’s direction just flew past the latter’s head. It was hopeless from the beginning, Yuta said, so he let it go. Taeyong laughed so hard at the idea of Yuta being unintentionally shot down that he choked on his beer. He said he never really saw him that way. 

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” Yuta said jokingly. 

Taeyong snorted. Challenge accepted. “Fine, let me see then.” He leaned in to kiss Yuta knowing full well the latter would dodge him faster than he would a bullet. He wasn’t wrong.

“Woah,” Yuta said, hand pushing on Taeyong’s chest. “No homo between us. I’m way past that.” 

Taeyong nearly punched him, but he just laughed and agreed. Good for them too. They don’t think they could ever thrive as anything other than friends.

A few months after, Yuta met Sicheng, a contemporary dancer from China. They fell in love a little too quickly, too easily. Taeyong wondered if that was really possible, but it didn’t really matter what he thought. Yuta was the happiest he’s ever seen him. Taeyong finds himself wishing something like that for himself too.

His wish was granted not long after.

He was just beginning to lose hope, not only on love but on succeeding in his career. He was hungry to prove himself, to have something he could put on his shoulders so he could tell his family, _I made it and I didn’t need your help_. He knew it wouldn’t happen in a snap, but he also didn’t expect recognition to be this slow. So when it finally appears in front of his eyes, in the form of handsome, courteous Han Jiseok, Taeyong was more than done for.

Jiseok didn’t really do much. He just happened to be looking at Taeyong’s painting around the same time Taeyong went to check if anyone has been interested in it. They engage in conversation, rapidly but smoothly. It was too easy, of course. It’s definitely not a challenge to be charmed by Taeyong’s big round eyes and pouty lips, and it most certainly is not that hard to sweep Taeyong off his feet when he’s nothing short of desperate for a chance at love.

When Jiseok said the painting would look great at the lobby of his family’s hotel in Daejeon, Taeyong’s eyes lit up like shooting stars. So it's no surprise that when he laid his claim on the artwork, he laid his claim on Taeyong too.

They saw each other a lot from then. Taeyong was easily whipped. Jiseok knew how to push his buttons, knew exactly what he wanted to hear. Compliments flew out of mouth like clear streams of water, and Taeyong absorbed them like he was dry land. This is it, he thought. This is his “too quickly, too easily, but it doesn’t matter.” This is his chance at something great.

Taeyong believed they were fucking perfect. It’s his first try at love and he gets it right. Who could be so lucky? Maybe things are finally turning around for him.

They stayed together for quite a long time. 10 months in total. They never defined what the relationship was. They just knew they liked being with each other. For Taeyong though, it was more than just “like.” He was fucking in love. He didn’t realize Jiseok didn’t feel the same way until eight months into their undefined relationship.

That day was supposedly better than most. Jiseok broke the big news: an owner of a gallery in Gangnam took interest in Taeyong’s art, the one displayed at the lobby of Jiseok’s family’s hotel. He wants to commission him for an _entire_ collection. To say Taeyong was over the moon would be an understatement. He was ecstatic. He jumps into Jiseok’s arms, meeting him in a kiss, then he says it, perhaps in the heat of the moment, perhaps not. “I love you.”

For a while, he doesn’t hear anything back. His heart crumbles the longer the seconds tick, until finally, Jiseok spoke, “I’m sorry.”

Taeyong merely forced a smile. “It’s okay.” And he meant it. He doesn’t mind waiting. He doesn’t care if Jiseok has yet to learn how to love him. He was sure he would. People don’t kiss the way Jiseok kisses him if they’re not in love or on their way there. Right…? _Wrong_.

But Taeyong doesn’t notice anything. In his head, they’re still perfect. Even when Jiseok stopped seeing him on weekends, they’re perfect. Even when he only called Taeyong for a quick fuck, they’re perfect. Even when his shirt smells like someone else’s perfume and his neck and chest are littered with faded kiss bites that definitely wasn’t from Taeyong, they were perfect. Taeyong had exhausted all his excuses for him, yet he still refused to see it as anything other than fucking perfect. Pathetic, really.

It wasn’t until he started saying no that the illusion slowly shattered. Jiseok began to hit where it hurts. 

Perhaps, the denial happened so often that it injured his ego. Taeyong no longer agreed when Jiseok requested for sex, for attention, for a release. It’s not because he didn’t want to give in. His mind was just too busy with something else. Turns out his passion to create is still greater than his “love” for Jiseok. For anyone, actually.

One night, they were in Taeyong’s kitchen. Jiseok had been hinting, yet again, cooing at Taeyong’s skin while the latter was panicking about his deadline. “Not tonight, please,” Taeyong said kindly. He reached for a kiss, a way to say sorry, but Jiseok had enough. 

“Fucking hell, Taeyong.” He lifted the dining table a few inches only to slam it down. “Are you really this selfish?!”

Taeyong flinched. He realized no one had ever raised their voice at him that much, not even his own parents. He pleaded, tears pricking at the back of his eyes. But Jiseok kept going. The accusations pour out of him, his tongue twisting truths, his voice making it seem that this downfall is all Taeyong’s fault, that he’s the one to blame. “I gave you everything, all of this. Have you forgotten? Now I ask for something in return and you’re so quick to say no. You’re too wrapped up in your own head, you don’t realize you’re losing people.” Taeyong believed it all.

“You don’t love me,” Jiseok said, hand already on the doorknob. “If you do, none of this would’ve happened.”

“That’s not—“

“To think you wouldn’t even have a chance at success without me,” Jiseok scoffed before he walked away. That was the last thing he ever said to Taeyong.

Foolish as it is, among the many hurtful things Jiseok had told him, that was the line that broke him the most. He never felt more worthless and undeserving, both of love and of recognition. None of what he’d achieved is because he was good, apparently. All of it was because he loved Jiseok and Jiseok felt like he had to give something back. 

None of it sounded right but that was the truth Taeyong chose to believe in. It was the truth that drove him mad with self-loathing, sent him marching to his studio, and possessed him to run a palette knife across the many canvases he worked so hard to finish within the past few months, ripping them apart, hoping they would bleed the same way his soul does. He didn’t stop until there was nothing more to shred, all the time, his mind asking the same questions over and over again. Is love supposed to leave him feeling this empty? Isn’t this a two-way thing? No, it isn't. Jiseok never said it back. But _fuck_. Why is it such a sin to choose himself some of the time? Why does he always have to fucking choose?

Taeyong was sure he would’ve ripped something that would actually bleed if Yuta didn’t find him that night. He didn’t realize he was shaking until Yuta took his hands in his, forcing him to let the palette knife go.

When Taeyong calmed down, he realized Yuta’s eyes were bloodshot too. Weird, the tears weren’t fresh. So why…?

“Sicheng and I broke up,” Yuta said.

 _Fuck._ Suddenly, Taeyong found himself a new reason to cry. He loved Sicheng. He loved him for Yuta. They made him hopeful, of sharing happiness, of love. Perhaps, “too quickly, too easily” doesn’t work that well. Perhaps it doesn’t work at all. At least not for them, the unlucky few.

After that night, Taeyong didn’t even try holding a brush again. He was unworthy. He was nothing by himself. A fucking pawn. A useless chess piece. A leaf sprouting in spring only to fall during autumn.

It took him two years, two _goddamn_ years, to realize that a game of chess couldn’t really start with a missing piece. Two years before he stopped blaming himself, two years before he held a brush again. Two years because that’s when he realized what he had with Jiseok was so fucking far from love; because that’s when he learned what love really looked like. He sees it for the first time in the eyes of Jung Jaehyun, the guy who stared at him for approximately 27 minutes in the uni art gallery while he stared at the entirety of fall for just as long, thinking about the irony in the colors of the autumn leaves: it’s not supposed to be warm, because fall is blue. It’s about endings.

The leaves that fall just stay fallen. They don’t come back alive. _There are no new beginnings in fall,_ he remembers thinking. _Maybe that’s the metaphor._

Except it wasn’t. Jaehyun came to prove him wrong. About his metaphor. About love. About “too quickly, too easily.” Taeyong has never been more grateful he didn’t get love right the first time.

  
  


❋❋❋

  
  


_Fire_ , Taeyong finds himself thinking yet again.

He hasn’t caught up on the sleep he didn’t realize he lacked. Not yet. He immediately went back to the studio after reading Jaehyun’s post-it note for the twenty-third time. He hasn’t moved since, not to reach for his paintbrushes, not to paint, not even to call Jaehyun even if he craved to hear his voice. He doesn’t really know what to say. He’s also afraid of any confirmation that they’re not okay.

So he just sits there, contemplating his fall painting, not once attempting to change his point of view. It’s a nice reflection of how life currently feels anyway. Like fire, warm and soothing at first, but progressing to an intolerable kind of heat as time passes. It burns and it hurts, but Taeyong makes no attempt to move away. He doesn’t really know how to.

It’s supposed to be a cool autumn afternoon, but he’s sweating. The heater is on and his windows are sealed shut. He’s wearing one of the thick brown sweaters Jaehyun used the other day because it’s the only thing that smells like him. Everything else smells like stupid clean detergent. Taeyong sighs. Is it stupid that he loves the smell of fresh laundry on anything but Jaehyun’s clothes? Probably. But he doesn’t care.

This is the closest he’s been to him in that past 36 hours. Approximately. How messed up is that? 

At 8:21PM, he receives the usual text. _“will be late again today. u dont have to wait up :)”_

Taeyong replies, _“i’ll wait :) love you.”_ When he gets no reply back, his mind supplies him the most believable excuse: he’s just busy. Taeyong puts all his hope in it.

Some hours later, he decides to go out of the studio, already losing sensation in his legs after sitting for so long. The kitchen clock says it’s 11PM. _Shit._ He wouldn’t even realize he skipped all three meals if it weren’t for the time. Strangely, he doesn’t feel hungry at all. Still, he knows he’ll get enough scolding from Jaehyun if he finds out about it, so he forced a few biscuits down his throat. At least he wouldn’t have to lie if he tells Jaehyun he ate, not that he would ask without prompting. But just in case.

After going through two packets of Oreos, he drinks a shitload of water before retiring to bed. He lies there quietly, a bit sleepy but sincerely waiting. There isn’t really much for him to do, so he takes interest in the ceiling. It’s a nice change of scenery, he thinks. The plain white has a peaceful vibe to it compared to his fiery fall painting. The old paint is wearing down at the corners. Patches of dried tape are scattered here and there from when Taeyong hung balloons and photographs for Jaehyun’s birthday last year. It’s been a while since either of them have done anything like that for the other. Taeyong feels guilty.

A few minutes later, he hears the front door open. His ears register the familiar clatter of keys and the recognizable pattern of Jaehyun’s footsteps. Foolish as it is, Taeyong waits for him to come. That’s the routine: greet the other with a kiss and a small announcement of ‘I’m home.’ Taeyong knows it’s been broken for quite a while even though he's not sure how long it’s been since. But tonight, he’s awake and he’s not inside his studio, so he thinks maybe they could steal some moments from the past just like they did last week on the couch. Taeyong hopes and waits. But Jaehyun doesn’t come.

The footsteps recede down the hall before the faint sound of running water starts coming from the bathroom. Shower is the new first step, it seems. Maybe Taeyong could share it, just like old times. So he gets up and walks to the bathroom, knocking only twice.

Jaehyun doesn’t lock the door when he showers. It’s a habit he developed when they first started living together, back when Taeyong almost always gatecrashed his shower time. “It’ll save both time and water,” Taeyong claimed. (That was a lame excuse. Half the times they showered together ended in sex which definitely did _not_ save time and water). Eventually, their schedules began conflicting and sharing showers seemed quite impossible. Still, Jaehyun always kept the door unlocked just in case Taeyong decides to “save time and water” again. The only times he would find the bathroom door locked are during nights when Jaehyun is mad at him.

So when he turns the knob and it twists all the way, a flood of relief washes over his insides. He takes that as a sign. _We’re okay._

“Jaehyunie?” Taeyong calls as he pushes the door, voice soft.

The younger stills from behind the shower curtain. “Yeah?”

Taeyong had to sigh. It feels like he hasn’t heard Jaehyun’s voice in weeks. It twists something inside of his chest, makes him want to vomit. “Can I…” Pause. He doesn’t know what he’s hesitating for. It’s just Jaehyun. The door is unlocked. _We’re okay,_ he reminds himself. “Can I join you?”

Another pause. “I’m almost done though.”

“Oh.” Taeyong blinks. “Um. Okay.”

There’s nothing besides the sound of water hitting Jaehyun’s skin. Taeyong’s muscles are screaming, begging him to move. He feels weird and out of place. A few more seconds of this silence and he’d go as far as saying he’s unwanted. Should he leave? Probably. But his feet stayed glued to where he stands. His ribcage feels like it’s folding in on itself, struggling to answer the questions his chest generates with every heartbeat: what the fuck is this feeling? Why is it here, why with Jaehyun?

“I’ll just go after you,” he mumbles, almost forcing the words out. At the same time, Jaehyun says, “Come here.”

Pause. Again. A worse kind of silence falls on them. Taeyong wants to run, but Jaehyun has turned the shower off, head peeking from behind the curtain. His hair is pushed back over his forehead in a way Taeyong finds extremely attractive. The older exhales loudly.

“You’re not joining…?” Jaehyun asks, as if he wasn’t the one who half-implied there’s no use for Taeyong to come in.

Taeyong hesitates again. He was about to shake his head no, but Jaehyun doesn’t give him a chance to linger on his thoughts. The younger steps out of the shower area, hands reaching out for his hyung. He’s dripping all over the dry tiles and if Taeyong isn’t so busy comprehending what exactly is happening, he would’ve scolded Jaehyun without a doubt. But today, he just stays quiet, allowing the younger to pull him closer, trying to meet his eyes even when he won’t look at him.

Jaehyun pulls the hem of Taeyong’s shirt upwards, gently taking it off his lighter frame. He urges Taeyong towards the shower head, turning the water on slowly so his skin could adjust to the warmth. For some reason, Taeyong bites back every urge to make a sound. He didn’t want to be the first one to break the silence. He doesn’t want to be the one to point out the unpleasant aura lingering in the atmosphere, not when he’s refusing to acknowledge it. The door being unlocked equates to them being okay. That is the only truth he wants to believe in. Naturally, he ignores the rest of it. 

They don’t do anything for a while. Jaehyun is done with his shower routine so he just stands there, quietly enjoying the heat. He’s staring at Taeyong, so blatantly obvious that it makes the latter conscious of himself even if Jaehyun already has every part of his body memorized. 

Taeyong takes the body wash and scrubs himself all over as he usually does. He asks Jaehyun to get to the parts of his back he couldn’t reach. He doesn’t think too much of the fact that Jaehyun’s touches had nothing besides the intent to wash and rinse him clean, no thrumming energy, no heat. At one point, Taeyong pokes the small ticklish part of Jaehyun’s belly. He waits for the retaliation, but the younger only responds with a tight smile. Taeyong doesn’t think much of that too.

When they’re done, Taeyong tries to talk. “How was work?” he asks while Jaehyun wraps a towel around his waist.

The younger shrugs. “Same old. Busy. Kinda boring.”

“Oh.” _Okay_ , he thought to himself. Taeyong doesn’t ask any more.

In the bedroom, there’s no white noise to fill the silence. It’s too quiet to be comfortable, almost like they’re up 50,000 feet in the sky where the air is too thin to breathe. Taeyong had to stand up and go out, just to see if getting some space is better than not having any.

“Where are you going?” Jaehyun asks as the older opens the door. He’s still naked from the waist up.

“Just,” Taeyong breathes. He searches for an excuse. “Gonna’ check if the doors are locked.”

Jaehyun nodded, still not looking at him. 

So Taeyong went. And _of course,_ the doors are locked, because Jaehyun is the last one who came in and he _always_ makes sure to lock them. Taeyong sighs to himself before going to the kitchen. He drinks a glass of water, half-hoping to drown in it. When he doesn't, his exhale comes out with spite.

He goes back to the bedroom, finding Jaehyun sitting at the edge of their bed. His hands move way too aggressively as he dries his hair with a towel. Something in Taeyong’s chest swell with a weird mixture of fondness and frustration.

“Jae, slow down.” He clicks his tongue, walking until he’s in front of the younger, hand outstretched. “Let me.”

Taeyong stopped a few inches too far. Normally, he’d be standing right between Jaehyun’s legs, always having to be touching him somewhere, no matter how minimal. Taeyong just needs a constant reminder that Jaehyun is close. Unfortunately, at times like this, it’s also a constant reminder that he isn’t.

Jaehyun stares up at him. “What?”

“Let me dry your hair,” he replies. “It’ll fall off if you keep doing it like that.”

Jaehyun looks like he wanted to argue, but he drops his arms nonetheless, allowing Taeyong to take over. The older’s movements are much softer and gentler. Slowly, he feels Jaehyun relax beneath his hands.

A step closer has their knees almost touching, not quite close enough. Perhaps Jaehyun has noticed the distance too, because _f_ _inally,_ he put his hands on Taeyong’s waist, pulling him closer. All the aggressiveness from his previous movements are gone.

“You’re so far,” Jaehyun whines softly. “And quiet.”

A smile spreads on Taeyong’s face, small and timid. He knows it looks a bit forced but anything wider than a half-assed grin would trigger the tears he’s been foolishly suppressing all day. They don’t need that right now. “Sorry,” he mutters, trying to sound okay.

Jaehyun pulls him even closer until he’s sitting on his lap. His hands slip under Taeyong’s shirt, just so he could hold him skin to skin with no other intentions but to caress. Taeyong sighs at the touch. _God_ , even the bare minimum contact sets his skin on fire.

Taeyong places the damp towel somewhere by the bedside table, wanting his hands to be holding something else. Jaehyun’s hair has fallen down to cover his eyes, so Taeyong pushes them back, purchasing a solid view of the younger’s forehead. Jaehyun meets his gaze for the first time that night, and suddenly, Taeyong feels close to breaking. He couldn’t name it exactly, but there was something like tenderness in the younger’s eyes, something Taeyong hasn’t seen for quite a while. He wasn’t sure if it’s because Jaehyun hasn’t been looking at him this way anymore, or if he hasn’t been looking at Jaehyun at all.

Taeyong breaks eye contact first. He was already at the edge of falling apart. He knew it would only take a few more seconds of holding that gaze to send him collapsing. So he closes his eyes, breathing heavily before planting a small kiss just above the space between Jaehyun’s eyebrows, soft, almost featherlight. “I love you,” he mumbles, lips on skin.

The contact only lasts a while because Jaehyun pulls away, just enough to be able to catch Taeyong’s eyes again. He cups the older’s cheek, bringing him down gently as if meeting his lips for a kiss, but he doesn’t kiss him just yet. He stops inching forward when they’re near enough that his breath tickles the skin on Taeyong’s bottom lip. Two more seconds pass before he speaks, almost in a whisper, “I’m sorry, baby.”

Something shatters inside Taeyong. _Sorry._ What for? Today? Last night? For making Taeyong feel like he was given up on? For leaving without saying goodbye? For letting a day go by without muttering a promise of _I love you_? For not saying it back? Taeyong doesn’t blame Jaehyun for anything, but even if there was something to be sorry for, Taeyong would’ve forgiven him in less than a heartbeat.

Because a sorry is not what he needs right now. He has said his piece and he wants to hear it back. He needs a reply, a declaration, a confirmation better than an unlock door. He needs something other than this because the reply to _I love you_ shouldn’t be _I’m sorry_ , not if it’s Jaehyun. 

Taeyong waits and hopes. Desperately. But Jaehyun doesn’t say anything more.

Still, when the younger leans in, Taeyong allows himself to be kissed. A lovesick fool, that’s all he is, perhaps. So he decides getting space is _not_ better than not having any. But he also doesn’t let the kiss become something more. Maybe he still has a bit of self-respect left, maybe he’s just tired.

They let go of each other with an exhale, with Jaehyun chasing Taeyong’s lips as the latter pulled back first. Jaehyun manages to steal one more peck before Taeyong speaks again, voice cracked, rough at the edges, “Let’s go to sleep? You look tired.” It wasn’t a question nor a request.

He climbs off Jaehyun’s lap and crawls to his side of the bed, back facing the younger. He doesn’t expect to be held, not after what has happened so far, not after pulling away so quickly. He may be a fool in love but he knows disappointment when he sees it. He’s seen it way too many times, in way too many ways, from way too many people to be able to recognize even the tiniest hint of it. And it’s there in Jaehyun’s eyes, along with something else. Guilt, maybe? Taeyong isn’t sure what it’s for. He doesn’t really want to know.

Unexpecting, he gasps when Jaehyun’s arms snake around his waist, pulling him against his chest before kissing the angle of his shoulder. It took Taeyong a while to relax, but eventually he did. He _is_ a lovesick fool after all, and Jaehyun still _is_ the endpoint of all his affection.

He just has to remind himself that Jaehyun loves him too. Even if he doesn’t always say it back. This isn’t the first time anyway. Even if he’s known Taeyong better than anyone, he won’t always know when Taeyong needs to hear it, those three words, that constant promise. Taeyong knows how to forgive him for that, but forgiving something doesn’t mean it won’t hurt you anymore.

He squirms in his space, turning around until he’s facing Jaehyun. He kisses him again, this time on the skin below his bottom lip, but Jaehyun tilts his head downward to meet his lips.

“Goodnight, baby,” Jaehyun says. No _I love you_ , just _goodnight_.

Taeyong buries his face in Jaehyun’s chest. He pretends not to think much of it. _I love you,_ he whispers _,_ but the only thing heard is “Goodnight.”

  
  
  
  


Some time around 6AM, Taeyong stirs as Jaehyun kisses him goodbye. “Hey.” The younger smiles as Taeyong reacts to the kiss. “I have to go.”

Taeyong nods and forces a smile. “Be safe,” he replies, closing his eyes again. Then in a softer voice, he mutters, “Love you.”

Jaehyun kisses him on the temple but he doesn’t say anything else before he leaves. When Taeyong hears the door close, he hopes and waits, for a comeback maybe? He doesn’t know. Nothing comes. So he hugs a pillow to himself, breathing against it until he’s heaving. When the pressure builds up enough inside his chest, he allows it to break down his walls. He screams into the pillow. Then, like the fool he is, he cries.

He begins working at 9 after getting over his breakdown. He skips most of the usual routine, the breakfast, the Lauv, the weird foreign music, the procrastinating, the Jaehyun. He doesn’t wait for his call, doesn’t even consider it’s him calling when his phone rings. He’s right anyway. It’s Yuta. “Are you alive?” his friend asks.

“Um, I dunno,” Taeyong replies. So Yuta takes him out for lunch because he’s received too many of Taeyong’s ‘ _I dunno’_ s to know what it means: he feels like absolute shit and he won’t eat if no one forces him to. Taeyong doesn’t tell him it’s because of Jaehyun, but he had a feeling Yuta already knew (he does).

He goes back to the apartment sometime in the afternoon, feeling somehow better except for the red mark on his forehead from where Yuta flicked him, saying, “Stop being an idiot and communicate with your boyfriend.” Taeyong just laughed but didn’t promise him anything.

He begins working on a new blank canvas, all his works in progress yet to be completed. Taeyong doesn’t care. None of the uncompleted pieces feel like extensions of him at the moment. They’re too bright and light. Right now, the shadows call to him. Today, the darkness will be his muse. Not fire, not burning, just a bunch of empty nothings and a solid stripe of gold.

Jaehyun comes home at midnight while Taeyong is still inside the studio. He doesn’t announce his arrival when he comes even if Taeyong hears him opening the front door. Like the other nights before, he takes a shower first. He only comes knocking on the studio once he’s all cleaned up and dressed.

“Hyung,” Jaehyun says as he swings the door open. He doesn’t walk inside, as if taking thirteen steps towards Taeyong was too much work.

Taeyong forces a smile before he turns around. “Hey.”

Jaehyun’s eyes travel from the paintbrush in Taeyong’s hand to the still wet canvas behind him before finally meeting his lover’s eyes. His lips form themselves in a tight line, carving dimples in his cheeks. “Still working?”

Taeyong drops the brush as if it suddenly burns to touch. It surprises him. “Yeah, I’ll just...” he searches for words but he doesn’t find any, so his arms flail around helplessly, gesturing to the painting, hoping Jaehyun understands.

It doesn’t seem like he did. “Right,” he says. “I’m going to sleep.”

Taeyong waits for the invite. He doesn’t know why. He’s already sure it won’t come. “I’ll be there in a while,” he says.

Jaehyun chews on his lip, nodding as he quietly steps away from the door, letting it close behind him. But even before the latch clicks on the frame, Taeyong grabs the knob and steps out the room as well, just in time to see Jaehyun aggressively running his fingers through his hair.

“Jaehyunie,” Taeyong calls.

Jaehyun freezes from where he stands. When he turns around, his eyes meet Taeyong with a question. The distance feels awkward, as if they're a couple of kids separated by a tiny puddle that either of them could easily cross if they weren’t so scared of dirtying their new white sneakers. Neither of them decides to move closer, so they just stare at each other from a few feet away.

“You won’t kiss me goodnight?” Taeyong asks. He was trying to sound as indifferent as possible but he probably just came off as smug. Almost immediately, he catches something passing in Jaehyun’s eyes, something unpleasant.

The younger blinks. His voice was a little too stable when he spoke, like the ocean waves before a tsunami sets in. “I wasn't sure if you wanted me to.”

Taeyong frowns. “Why won’t I?” He forces himself to step closer, ignoring that painful pressure growing inside his chest, like a hot air balloon at the brink of explosion.

“Seemed like that lately. I don’t know.” Jaehyun shrugs, turning away.

Taeyong frowns. “What?”

“Nothing. Just go do what you do.” 

The words were harmless, but Taeyong could hear the poison injected in the way Jaehyun said it. He could’ve convinced himself otherwise but the fact that Jaehyun won’t meet his eyes is enough confirmation. “I’m confused,” Taeyong replies bluntly. “What’s this? I thought we’re okay?”

Jaehyun lets out an empty laugh, almost mocking. It was brief and silent, but loud enough for Taeyong to hear. “Okay? Sure.” He walks to the bedroom and exhales sharply before speaking again. “Whatever. I’m really tired, Yong. I’m going to sleep.”

Taeyong clicks his tongue, reaching out for the younger’s wrist. He barely catches it, so when he does, he grips it like a lifeline. Something is either ringing inside his ears or it’s just frustration starting to seep into his voice. “Jae, come on.” 

“ _What_ , Taeyong!? What else do you want!?” Jaehyun says, a few decibels short of a shout. In the quiet apartment, it’s loud enough to be deafening.

Taeyong visibly flinches at the sudden raise in the younger’s voice. He’s heard it before, albeit rarely, but it has never been directed towards him. He suddenly feels sorry for anyone who’s ever been at the receiving end. It feels fucking horrible. 

His hands slowly slip away from where it’s holding Jaehyun’s wrist, his feet unknowingly stepping back. Once, twice, three times until his back hits the knob of the studio door, making him wince. “Nothing,” he answers, voice so small it was barely heard. He clears his throat and forces a smile. “I’m sorry. Goodnight.”

 _Fuck._ If the air felt thin inside their bedroom last night, it was nothing compared to this. Taeyong couldn’t fucking breathe. His lungs are almost gasping for air, but he doesn’t allow himself an inhale, not while Jaehyun is right there. He turns around and puts all his mind into stopping his hands from shaking and opening the goddamn studio door.

“Yong,” Jaehyun calls. “Baby.” He sounded distant. “I didn’t mean—I don’t... I-I’m sorry.”

Taeyong shakes his head. He tries to keep his voice steady when he speaks again, only half-succeeding. “I know, love. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry too.” He sighs shakily. _Finally,_ the door opens. He spares Jaehyun a glance as he steps in. Jaehyun hasn’t even moved from where he was. “Go to sleep, Jae. You look tired.”

“Taeyong.” Pleading. But Taeyong has already locked the door. 

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps getting space might be better than not having any. Not for him, god no. But Jaehyun sure sounds like he needed some break from Taeyong. If so, Taeyong is willing to give it to him.

So that night, he doesn’t come to bed. Instead, he sleeps inside his studio, hugging Jaehyun’s sweater to himself.

  
  
  


When Taeyong wakes up, he’s aching all over. His neck, his back, his heart all have that dull kind of pain from sleeping alone on a laid out tarpaulin on the studio floor. His phone says it’s a little past 7. Jaehyun has probably left. When Taeyong goes out to check, he finds he’s right. Jaehyun didn’t leave a note this time. It’s really no surprise.

He spends a good 45 minutes staring at the huge window in their living room. It’s gloomy outside. The sky had none of its usual charming noon glow. The entire expanse of it is just a plain, boring gray, painting the rest of the world in an equally bleak palette. Taeyong waits for the rain. He loves to watch the droplets dancing on his window. Sometimes, he pretends he’s Joey from Friends, emoting with his silly waterfall thingy. Jaehyun finds that funny. Weirdly and unfortunately, the sky clears up an hour after.

After lunch, he surprisingly got sick of being alone so he calls the museum and asks if there is anything scheduled today. He offers to facilitate two small tours, just so he could have something else to think about. It works to distract him somehow.

He doesn’t hear from Jaehyun until a few minutes past the museum’s closing time. Taeyong is hanging around in front of an impressionist painting of a zen garden in Japan, wondering what twist Jaehyun would put into its story, when the younger calls to tell him the usual thing.

“I’ll be late again tonight.”

Taeyong wonders why he still bothers, but these reminders are the only times he gets to talk to Jaehyun in the middle of the day so he doesn’t really mind. “Okay,” he replies.

No one spoke after that. It became so silent that Taeyong had to check if Jaehyun is still on call. He waits for a few more seconds. When he’s about to say goodbye, Jaehyun speaks again in a voice that’s almost as quiet. “Okay.”

Taeyong clears his throat. “I’ll wait for you.”

He hears a soft exhale. “Okay.”

The conversation grows still again. Taeyong isn’t sure why he’s still not ending the call, but he stays on line as he walks out of the current exhibit and down the hallway to the locker room. His footsteps echo along the stone walls, filling in the excruciating silence between him and the other person on the line.

“Are you somewhere?” Jaehyun asks.

“Oh. Um, yeah. I went to the museum today. I forgot to tell you. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Did they call you in?”

“Not really. I offered to come in. Just…” Taeyong hums. “Didn’t feel like painting. I guess.”

“Oh.”

Silence. Taeyong waits.

“Yong?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t, baby. Please.” Taeyong sighs. He feels rather happier now than he did when he woke up. He doesn’t want a half-assed sorry to ruin it. “I’ll see you tonight?”

A pause then a sigh. “Yeah.”

Silence again. Taeyong waits for something else. Nothing comes. “‘Mkay. Bye, Jae,” he says, ending the call before Jaehyun could even reply.

When he gets to the locker room to get his things, one of the creative directors, Kun, invites him out to dinner with the rest of the staff. Taeyong agrees. He completely forgot that his workmates don't usually have dinner together unless ‘dinner’ means two buckets of chicken wings for every bucket of beer. Taeyong almost regrets saying yes but he figures it won’t hurt to join the fun. So he did, eating hot wings until his lips turned numb and drinking beer until he felt tipsy.

He gets into a cab at 10PM, arriving at his building 20 minutes after. The apartment is still empty when he gets in, not that he expected anything different. He takes off his shoes, drinks a shitload of water, accidentally bumps his hip on the kitchen counter, stops himself from crying because _fuck_ that hurts, before finally passing out on the couch.

Time passes by without him noticing. He wakes up to Jaehyun’s voice calling out his name and a hand gently shaking him by the thighs. “Taeyong, baby.” He feels a kiss on his forehead. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Taeyong croaks as he tries to lift his heavy eyelids. 

Jaehyun is kneeling on the floor beside the couch, eyes looking at Taeyong with overwhelming concern and a little bit of something else. He’s still in his work clothes and he smells like… car perfume? It’s only weird because Jaehyun doesn’t drive a car yet (they’re still saving up for one) and he usually takes the bus home. But whatever. Taeyong hates the smell. 

His eyes travel past Jaehyun towards the clock mounted on the wall. It’s already a little past 2AM. “Did you just get home?” Taeyong asks, slowly sitting up. His head spins.

Jaehyun nods, taking up the space the older freed up on the couch. He faces his hyung, hands moving the hair away from his face.

“It’s so late, Jaehyunie,” Taeyong whines, eyes falling closed. “This is unhealthy. Why do you always work so much?”

“Not always,” Jaehyun mumbles before he begins tugging on Taeyong’s hands gently. “Have you been drinking?”

Taeyong raises a hand, gesturing with his thumb and index close to each other, as if to say _just a bit._

“Why didn’t you tell me? How did you get home? How much did you drink?”

Taeyong clicks his tongue groans, letting his head fall on Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Slow down, you ask too much,” he pleads. “It wasn’t planned. They invited me, I said yes. I didn’t want to bother you. You’re so busy. I didn’t drink much anyway. It’s a weekday, Jaehyunie. Just two, three beers? I’m not even drunk. I swear. Just. Dizzy, a lot. But I took a cab home. I bumped my hip. It doesn't hurt anymore though so I’m okay. I’m just really sleepy. Didn’t sleep much last night. It was cold in the studio. But I’m fine, I’m fine. I waited for you, see? So don’t worry about me.”

“You’re talking a lot, love,” Jaehyun says softly.

“So? I’m not drunk.”

“I didn’t say you were drunk.” Jaehyun chuckles knowingly. 

Taeyong couldn’t seem to keep himself in a single train of thought. “No. Right. You should shower. I’ll sleep here. It’s cold in the studio.”

“What do you mean here? You’ll sleep beside me.”

“We can’t fit on the couch.” Taeyong pauses and looks at Jaehyun. His vision dances so he drops his head again. “Wait, maybe we can. But no. I’ll stay here.”

“Baby,” Jaehyun says. He’s pulling on Taeyong now. He doesn’t stop until the older gives in and sits on his lap, burying his face on the crook of his neck as usual. “Listen to me, please.”

Taeyong hums, eyes closed. He is already at the precipice of sleep. The ground feels like it’s crumbling underneath the two of them, just a few more seconds and he’ll fall. Just him. Everything that’s happening and all that he’s doing occurs within half of his consciousness only.

“Taeyongie,” Jaehyun calls again.

“Yeah?” he forces out.

“I’m sorry,” the younger mumbles as he kisses Taeyong’s knuckles, “I’m so sorry for last night. I didn’t mean to shout. I was tired and I missed you. I’m sorry.”

“That’s a funny excuse, but I said don’t,” Taeyong whines. “It’s not your fault. I don’t want to hear a sorry. It hurts me.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“Stop. You should take a shower. I don’t like this smell on you,” Taeyong slurs. “I’ll go to sleep. I’m too sleepy. I can’t walk. I’ll sleep here. Go.”

“No. Sleep beside me.” Jaehyun kisses the part of Taeyong’s forehead he could reach with his lips. “In our bed. I miss you.”

“Can’t walk. Too tired.”

“I’ll carry you.”

Taeyong makes an incoherent noise that sounds halfway between a whine and affirmation, snuggling further into every point of contact with the younger’s body. Jaehyun takes it as a yes.

But first, he savors the moment, making the most of the minutes he holds Taeyong in his arms. He listens to him ramble about nothing until he gets too tired to speak. By the time Taeyong is depleted, Jaehyun has mustered enough physical strength to carry him to the bedroom. When he lays the older down on the mattress, his body folds in on itself and he begins snoring in no time.

This is all so cruel if one really thinks about it. Taeyong doesn’t feel it when Jaehyun runs his fingers through his hair and kisses him on the temple, on the cheek, and the corner of his lips. He doesn’t hear the break in Jaehyun’s voice when he whispers “I miss you so much,” against the skin on his knuckles while he pecks it with butterflies. His mind no longer registers his surroundings when Jaehyun hugs him close and mutters the soft declaration, the promise he had been craving to hear.

“I love you, Yong.”

And he’s unaware of how Jaehyun’s heart is breaking beside him for every night he doesn’t hear it back.

  
  
  
  


The following days pass by in a blur. The director of the art gallery called. She updated Taeyong on possible opening dates, walked him through the decisions until they could settle on a common ground. They’re offering to feature him earlier than planned, more or less a month from now. He’s almost reached their required number of pieces, two more to go and he’s done. So he says yes. But they gave him an allowance of five more works, just in case he decides to go crazy, which is good since Taeyong currently has six works in progress, three of which are more than half done.

Like every single reminder he gets of how much he loves his job, that phone call re-ignites the flame inside of him. It’s been dulled down the past few weeks, even more so these last few days. So he savors the zeal when it comes. He dives into his ocean and decides to camp on the sea bed, watching the currents dance around him but unable to whisk him away.

Jaehyun fades in the background, along with the rest of Taeyong’s insecurities. Taeyong no longer minds if Jaehyun doesn’t greet him when he comes home. He doesn’t realize how his nights morphed into days, nor the amount of meals he’s missed. He stops counting the hours he goes by without hearing Jaehyun’s voice or feeling his touch. He doesn’t realize that when he went to bed at 2AM on Thursday, Jaehyun still hasn’t come home. And he doesn’t really notice that when he woke up just a little before 6AM the next day, the other side of the bed remained untouched.

  
  
  
  


Sunday comes, which means Jaehyun doesn’t have work. Taeyong wakes up some time around 8AM from his nap at the studio. When he finds the younger wearing a suit, eating cereal in the kitchen, he doesn’t realize it’s a Sunday.

So like he usually does on days he wakes up before Jaehyun leaves, he kisses him goodbye and wishes him good luck. He walks to the bedroom and begins snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow. He doesn’t realize the reason why the younger is still dressed like that is because he just got home.

Jaehyun didn’t let him know. He also didn’t bother Taeyong the entire day.

  
  
  
  


Somewhere in the middle of the following week, Taeyong finishes the minimum requirement. He resurfaces a little bit, but since he still has more than two weeks before his deadline, he decides to work on the rest.

Everything is pretty much the same, except he doesn’t spend as much time inside his own head now. So he begins to notice things again. But _fuck,_ Taeyong just wishes he doesn’t. He’s convinced the smell of the paint and turpentine is starting to alter his memory and his brain chemistry. Things are not making much sense. Does Jaehyun spend his nights at work? Or is Taeyong not spending enough time outside the studio that he’s no longer aware when Jaehyun leaves and comes home? And why in hell does Jaehyun leave for work wearing a blue shirt and return home the next day wearing a white button down that's two sizes too small and smells like car perfume and someone else’s laundry detergent?

Taeyong refuses to believe the most believable reason. No. _Jaehyun won’t. Jaehyun would never._ So he tells himself it’s nothing. For now, he manages to convince himself somehow.

  
  
  
  


On Friday, Taeyong receives a phone call while he’s out buying supplies. He’s running low on yellows and white.

“Hello?” he mumbles to the phone, too busy to check who’s calling. He’s reading the inclusions of a watercolor set, wondering if he should buy one even if he doesn’t really do watercolor. It’s such a complicated medium, he thinks.

“Hey baby,” comes the voice that still gets him weak in the knees.

“Jaehyunie?”

“Who else?” Jaehyun chuckles. “You’re not busy today?”

Taeyong sees the price of the watercolor set and puts it down immediately. Why are art materials so fucking expensive? “Ummm,” he drags, “I’m actually out right now.”

“I know.” For some reason, Jaehyun’s voice sounds much closer now.

“You do?” Taeyong feels a tap on his shoulder. He almost drops his phone as he turns around, a pair of lips meeting his cheeks in a solid smack. “Shit.”

“Sorry.” Jaehyun steps back a little, putting his phone back in his pocket. He lets out a small smile, hand outstretched, so cool and casual as if he didn’t just sneak up on Taeyong. “Wanna have lunch?”

“What...“ Taeyong narrows his eyes, but he takes Jaehyun’s hand nonetheless. Jaehyun kisses his knuckles before intertwining their fingers. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“It’s lunch time. Doyoung suggested we go to the Italian restaurant across the street. I know this is your go-to shop, so I checked just in case, and ta-da, you’re here, so,” Jaehyun shrugs. “I ditched them.”

Taeyong blinks, incredulous. This whole situation feels so out of place with everything else going on in their relationship, as if they haven’t been spending the past few weeks missing each other in every sense of the word. “You did?” he finally replies as he places the items he picked on the cashier counter.

Jaehyun nods. “I have to meet them again in an hour though. So… lunch?”

Taeyong just ate. But he agrees nonetheless. He watches as Jaehyun’s smile reaches his eyes and his heart swells at the sight.

They go to a sushi place two stores away from the restaurant where Jaehyun’s coworkers are. It’s been a while since they’ve eaten at the same table. Jaehyun doesn’t really eat dinners at the apartment anymore, and Taeyong doesn’t tell him how he skips most meals because he hates eating alone. He’s basically been living on instant ramen bowls and tteokbokki and oreos, anything he can eat inside his studio.

Jaehyun doesn’t act differently. Somehow, that weirded Taeyong out more. A strange sense of familiarity tugs at his heartstrings everytime Jaehyun mumbles, “This one’s good. Try it,” before feeding him a bite. It’s almost exactly like the feeling he gets when he looks at the fall painting from the perfect distance, quiet and serene, as if something extreme is waiting to occur. A calm before a collapse, a calm before nothing.

He somehow finds solace at the fact that they don’t talk about anything that isn’t in front of them. The conversations are comfortable but they revolve around sushi and cola and the new tubes of paint Taeyong bought. They don’t talk about what happens in their apartment at night or how they’ve been sleeping on half-empty beds or how they haven’t held each other skin to skin for weeks. It’s like being inside a bubble where all is good and wonderful, and everything outside can be forgotten for as long as they don’t pop the fragile illusion.

After they’re done, Jaehyun takes Taeyong to meet his co-workers, most of whom he’s heard a lot about but have never met. There was the intern Sungchan who Jaehyun has been adoring a lot lately. Taeyong greets Johnny with a polite bow while the latter smiles at him and shakes his hand. Doyoung takes a step further to give him a nice, firm hug. When he did, the urge to _not_ notice hit Taeyong harder than it ever did. Because when Doyoung got close enough that Taeyong could get a whiff of his scent, his mind couldn’t stop thinking about how it smells exactly as Jaehyun does whenever he comes home looking like he’s wearing someone else’s clothes, smelling unfamiliar.

Taeyong wishes he didn’t notice because suddenly he’s hypersensitive to everything. He sees Doyoung stealing glances at Jaehyun before looking at Taeyong with a forced smile. He feels Jaehyun tense up when he meets his colleague's eyes, their gazes lingering on each other for a little too long. Taeyong wishes he doesn’t notice because when his brain supplies him with the most believable excuse, he could no longer convince himself it’s not true.

That night, Jaehyun comes into the studio to convince Taeyong to join him in bed. The latter allows Jaehyun to pepper butterfly kisses on his cheeks and forehead, but he moves away even before the younger could plant his lips on his.

  
  
  
  


Jaehyun calls at 10PM while Taeyong is waiting for him on the couch. He asks if it’s okay for him to stay the night in the office. His deadlines have piled up and the meeting with the board of trustees is in three days. Taeyong asks if it’s really necessary. Jaehyun answers that he’ll come home if he wants him to. He’ll just leave earlier than usual the next day.

“If you stay there, will you be able to get some sleep?” Taeyong asks. He resists the urge to ask if this is really the first time. If not, then why is he suddenly asking for permission?

“Yeah? There’s a couch in the lounge. I could rest for two hours? Maybe three. We’re assigning shifts.”

Taeyong chews on his bottom lip. “This is unethical, Jaehyunie.”

“I know, baby. It’s just tonight. We can’t risk missing the deadline. I hope you understand. It’s not too different from what you do.” Taeyong pretends he doesn’t hear the accusation in Jaehyun’s voice, so he doesn’t reply. They entertain a long pause before the younger speaks again. “Do you want me to come home?”

“No. Do what you have to.” It was forced and he knows Jaehyun could sense it too.

Still, Jaehyun replies, “Thank you.”

Taeyong asks who he’ll be with, and Jaehyun tells him only Johnny and Sungchan decided to stay the night as well. Taeyong doesn’t mention that he hears Doyoung’s voice in the background, and he fucking hates that he knows it’s Doyoung calling Jaehyun’s name a moment before Jaehyun says he has to hang up. He forces down the unpleasant burning feeling crawling up in his stomach, but he couldn’t stop it from building up pressure behind his eyelids.

“Please rest, Jae,” he says, voice soft.

“You too, love. I’ll see you tomorrow night. I promise.”

“Yeah, okay,” he murmurs. “I love you,” he tries to follow, but the line is already dead.

  
  
  
  


Jaehyun comes home the next day as promised. Taeyong doesn’t know if he’s wearing the same shirt he wore when he left. He didn’t see him leave, but he also didn’t need to think about it much. Like the nights before, Jaehyun smells like that unfamiliar detergent with a small hint of car perfume. And if Taeyong wants to be more specific, more cruel to himself, he could say it as it is too: Like the nights before, Jaehyun smells exactly like Doyoung.

Taeyong doesn’t say anything besides, “You should take a shower.” There may be an unpleasant feeling in the atmosphere, but he will _not_ be the one to address it. He also won’t pretend it’s not there. So when Jaehyun asks if he wants to join him, eyes eager and hopeful, Taeyong is quick to decline.  
  
  


The collapse happened less than a week after. 

He should’ve seen it coming, but thinking of an end is like manifesting it, and as much as he’s been hurting, Taeyong never really thought of giving up. Until the last moment, he wanted to save it. He’s willing to forgive and forget if it means he could taste Jaehyun’s lips every morning when he wakes up or even just stare at the curve of it until the younger bats an eye open and smiles while lazily mumbling “morning, baby.”

Unfortunately, he could only do so much, and Jaehyun could only take enough. And _fuck_ how stupid this all is because although he’s noticed and noticed and noticed, it never once crossed his mind that he might be looking at everything from the wrong perspective. When he knew, it was far too late.

Jaehyun has been coming home earlier lately. The board of trustees meeting was a success. One night, he comes home half-drunk and excited. He kisses Taeyong senseless and Taeyong allows it because the smell of the alcohol masks the smell of everything else. But when Jaehyun starts to grind against him, his first moan comes as an instruction to stop. The younger halts at once, never one to push his luck, but it’s too obvious, the confusion and disappointment in his eyes. Taeyong just looked away.

On Sunday, Jaehyun asks Taeyong out on a date. He sounds so much like he’s asking him for the first time, like Sundays aren’t usually theirs. Taeyong almost said yes, but he had a prior commitment. The opening is in two weeks and he’s sent more than half of his pieces to the gallery. They want him to check the space, and his opinion on the curation.

Will it take the whole day, Jaehyun asks. It will, Taeyong answers. Jaehyun just nods and says “It’s okay.” But Taeyong knows from the way the younger tossed his half-eaten pancakes on the sink that no, it isn’t. 

“How about dinner? At maybe 7 or 8? We don’t have to go out. I’ll cook. I’ll prepare everything,” Jaehyun says, absolutely no hostility in his voice.

“You don’t have to, Jae,” Taeyong answers meekly. “I don’t know if I—”

“I want to. It’s a special day.” He kisses Taeyong on the cheek. “I’ll wait for you.”

The older only sighs. “I’ll try but no promises.”

Lie. All of it. Taeyong doesn’t need the entire day out. The meeting at the art gallery will only take two hours at most. He has no plans after. But he also doesn’t know what he might do or how low he would spiral if he spends an entire day with Jaehyun while his thoughts run wild in his head. How could he pretend it’s nothing when he can no longer convince himself that? Short answer, he can’t. So he doesn’t.

When he goes out to leave, he only says goodbye. The _I love you_ just hangs in the air, there but unsaid. Jaehyun tells him to be safe, have fun, and that’s it. No kisses, no promises. Taeyong didn’t expect them either.

Slowly, alone and away, he begins to acknowledge that perhaps getting some space is better than not having any. Perhaps, he thinks, distance is better than proximity.

There he is, alone in that empty exhibit space. It smells like fresh construction and newly applied paint. The room is completely void of anything that the sound of his footsteps had nowhere else to bounce on but the walls. It is nothing but bleak white walls and gray floors and a naked ceiling. Still, as he stands in the center of it all, Taeyong is the happiest he’s been in weeks.

This is _his_ space, his stage, his giant empty canvas. This is what Lee Taeyong has made of himself, or at least the introduction to it. This is what makes his heart soar and his soul fly higher than the exosphere. This is his playground, and until he’s too exhausted to breathe, he _will_ play.

He leaves the gallery after three hours, and the first thing that pops into his head is to call Jaehyun. He’s too fucking happy and as with all the previous good news he’s received, the first one to hear after him should be the most important person in his life. For three years, it has always been Jaehyun. It still is. But as his thumb hovers over the call button, he hesitates. The longer he does, the more his mind goes over the events of the past weeks. The lonely late nights, the empty beds, the different smells, Taeyong convincing himself it’s nothing until he couldn’t, hurting and breaking with no one knowing. He decides he doesn’t want it to be Jaehyun right now.

So he scrolls down until he finds the second on his list of VIPs. It rings thrice before the pick up, a rude “What do you want?” coming from the other end of the line. Taeyong expresses his wishes. 

An hour later, he meets with Yuta in Hongdae. Yuta flicks him in the forehead as a greeting, and Taeyong punches him in the arm as a reply. They decided to watch a small production of _Inching Towards Yeolha_ starring college students from their alma mater. Taeyong fell asleep halfway through but Yuta seemed particularly engrossed. 

“You wasted my goddamn money,” Yuta complains when they get out.

Taeyong yawns. “I didn’t force you to pay.”

“No, you _begged_.”

“What can I say, I’m broke, broken, and charming. You’re gullible as fuck.” Taeyong shrugs. “Don’t worry, I’ll treat you next month.”

“I’m in Osaka next month, ass face.” Yuta glares but Taeyong just laughs.

For those few hours, Taeyong forgets about Jaehyun’s request. He gets dinner with Yuta at some fast food chain Yuta has been craving for. Taeyong only eats half of what he ordered, unable to stomach too much food after spending days on an unintentional diet. Yuta doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he asks if he could have Taeyong’s leftovers. He nodded, more thankful than anything.

At 10, Yuta drives him home for no reason other than to brag about his newly upholstered car seat. He tells Taeyong about this guy he met in a cooking class (“You take cooking classes?” Taeyong snorted. Yuta just rolls his eyes.) who shares far too similar interests as him but has a slightly different, somehow provocative point of view on it. Yuta strongly denies any attraction to said guy, but the crooked smirk on his lips says otherwise.

When Yuta drops Taeyong off in front of the 7-Eleven beside his apartment building, the latter is convinced the universe enjoys watching his demise an unhealthy amount.

Taeyong is throwing playful jibes about Yuta’s damn car seat as he gets out. He wouldn’t even notice anything if Yuta’s laughter didn’t die down a little too quickly in his throat as he nods towards something behind him. Taeyong knew what he’d find even before he turned around. 

And he’s right, Jaehyun is standing there, a few feet away from the convenience store, a huge plastic bag in hand. He looks at Taeyong, eyes unreadable, before they travel to Yuta in the driver’s seat. Yuta beams and utters an awkward “‘Sup, Jae,” to which Jaehyun only nods in reply. Yuta forces a nervous chuckle, mumbling an inappropriate remark about pent up sexual tension before driving away.

Alone, Taeyong suddenly feels naked under Jaehyun’s gaze. He waits. For a hi, or a touch. For anger maybe? Anything. But nothing comes. Without a word, Jaehyun turns on his heels and walks into the building.

Taeyong hesitates for too long before he decides to follow suit. He takes two steps at a time, only managing to catch up to Jaehyun when the elevator doors fail to close early. So now they stand there inside the metal box, alone and silent, together but not really. The two feet distance feels like a hundred, and Taeyong feels like a stranger to his own boyfriend’s eyes.

He holds his hand out for Jaehyun to take, a sorry excuse for an attempt to revive the old routine, to be connected somehow, no matter how minimal. But he’s left hanging until the seconds stretch too long that it becomes humiliating. He pulls his hand back. “You okay?” Taeyong asks meekly, poking Jaehyun on the shoulder instead. A stupid question, obviously, but Taeyong just wanted to have _anything_ to say.

Jaehyun doesn’t reply, no words, no actions. That’s how Taeyong knew the rest of the night is screwed over even before it happens.

When they get to the apartment, Jaehyun tosses the plastic bag to the kitchen counter, almost throwing it. It lands with an aggressive thud, making Taeyong jump. He's still taking his shoes off by the front door, but his eyes follow Jaehyun as he rummages through the bag, getting a beer can and popping it open before taking three huge gulps.

Taeyong rushes to his side, half scolding, half begging him to slow down. But as he walks further into the apartment, he gains sight of the dining table and almost faints. 

Roses, a bouquet of them, sitting at the corner of the table. The fancy plates they reserve for fancy nights are laid out for two. A couple of unlit candles sat in the middle of it, completing the grand scheme. There's the faint smell of baked chicken with garlic and butter which Taeyong loves. And _fuck_ it’s supposed to be romantic and intimate but it couldn’t be that because the room is dark and the table is empty and there is an unbearable weight sitting on his goddamn chest as he looks at the time. _11:02 PM._

He meets Jaehyun's eyes, partly in surprise, partly in confusion, mostly in guilt.

Jaehyun exhales deeply through his nose, downing the rest of his alcohol in two more gulps before crushing the can and tossing it in the trash.

Taeyong wanted to take his hand, to speak, to explain, to ask. But Jaehyun pulls it away, fumbling for something in his pocket. A few seconds later, he slides a black leather box across the kitchen counter. He doesn’t watch when Taeyong opens it. He doesn’t see as the older’s eyes well when he sees the gold bracelet and the tiny note on a folded paper that comes with it.

_"Happy Anniversary, Taeyongie!_

_Thank you for being the one I come home to._

_With all my heart, and all my thoughts, I love you."_

Taeyong let his eyes travel along Jaehyun’s handwriting again and again until he couldn’t, his vision too blurred with tears. He opens his mouth as he looks at the younger, searching for anything to say. But even before he could utter a word, Jaehyun breaks the deafening silence.

“We don’t know when our anniversary is, yeah I know,” he mutters, walking away as he speaks. “But it’s been exactly four years since I met you and I wanted to celebrate it with you tonight but…” He shrugs and sighs heavily. “Whatever. I hope you had fun with Yuta.”

The sound of the bedroom door slamming is so deafening that it breaks whatever is left unbroken inside of Taeyong. His knees buckle and his chest constricts. This is it. The painting has been set ablaze, and the fire is eating everything along its way. How foolish it is to think that his pillars are made of stone, when they’re nothing sturdier than the woods of a cherry blossom tree, his everything easily consumed by the flames, and he could only watch until the last pillar breaks. 

Then on comes the collapse. 

He takes the box with the gold bracelet and drags himself to the bedroom. He knocks but doesn’t come in even if the doors are unlocked. It’s a habit left unchecked, Taeyong realizes that now, not a sign of _being okay_. Locked or not, he is unwelcome. “Jae,” he calls. “Jaehyunie.”

Silence.

“Baby, please.” The sobs are getting harder to contain now. He doesn’t know why he feels the need to apologize, not when he knows what Jaehyun has been doing (or at least what he thinks of it), but he does it anyway. “I’m sorry.”

The door opens. Jaehyun greets him with the same empty expression. It is quite rare that Jaehyun is unfazed by the sight of Taeyong crying. Tears are usually followed by a hug and words of consolation and comfort, at least it used to be. Now though, Taeyong could have dried his ducts from crying and Jaehyun might not even bat an eye.

“The food’s already in the freezer. Just heat it up if you’re hungry.” He walks past the older, only the sleeves of their shirts touching. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“No, wait, Jae,” Taeyong cries. 

Jaehyun clicks his tongue in frustration. “What?!”

 _Aren’t we gonna talk about this?_ Taeyong wants to ask, but the words are caught in his throat, terrified. 

When he doesn’t say anything, Jaehyun sighs. “I don’t have time for guessing games, Yong, okay? It’s late and I have to get to work early tomorrow,” he says before turning around.

“Fuck. Fine. I just wanted to talk,” Taeyong whispers, closing his eyes. Another set of tears fall even as he tries to contain them with heavy breaths. He wipes them off before speaking in a louder voice, like a twig breaking in a forest on an eerily silent night. “You never have time for us anyway.” 

At that, Jaehyun freezes. When he turns to look at Taeyong again, there’s something in his eyes, cold and unforgiving. “ _I_ never have time for us?!” he echoes. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Taeyong’s hands are trembling beside him, so he tucks them in his back pockets. He’s afraid his voice would come out shaky too, so he kept his words to a minimum with a slight shrug. “Whatever, Jae. Just go shower. We’re both tired.”

He turns to walk into the bedroom, wanting nothing but to hug himself and cry in silence. But Jaehyun has apparently reached his tipping point, and he wants Taeyong to know. “ _NO_ ,” Jaehyun’s voice thunders, making the older jump. “You wanna talk? Fine, let’s talk.”

Taeyong lets out a shaky exhale before he turns to look at Jaehyun through glassy eyes. The latter had none of the fondness or tenderness Taeyong had missed seeing in his eyes for weeks. His eyes look nothing like the eyes that he gets lost in during random museum dates. Instead, his gaze feels like having a bucket of ice water thrown at your face. First, it’s just cold then it burns until your skin is aching before you turn numb. That’s how it feels right now. Freezing in a painful way. 

“I don’t understand you anymore, hyung,” Jaehyun says. “You lock yourself up for days on end. You’d choose to sleep on the couch than to share a bed with me. You say no to every single fucking time I try to do something for us, and I’m the one who doesn’t have time? You keep moving away and I keep wondering how else I could get to you, and I’m running out, Yong. Of everything.

“I try my best to give you all the time and space you want because I understand. I always try to. I don’t ask too much from you, but to this extent? Fuck, Taeyong, you’ve made it feel one-sided. I’m willing to give you everything, but I need you too.

“And this one night I ask something from you, you don't show up. Just _one_ fucking night, hyung, so we could celebrate something special, you can’t even spare? I got no calls, no updates, nothing. Then I see you coming home late, laughing around and having the time of your life with Yuta? Don’t even fucking tell me that was for whatever sculpture he wanted to buy. God fuck, he spends more time with you then I do.” Jaehyun is already heaving, but his voice remains steady despite the glisten of his eyes. “Maybe you should just go date him instead."

" _Jaehyun,_ " Taeyong says, horrified. "You _know_ that's not how it is."

"No, I don't!' Jaehyun retorts. "I don't know who I am in your life. I don't understand anymore. Do you still even wanna do this?”

Taeyong’s heart drops. He almost threw his arms around Jaehyun, muttering I’m sorry and I’ll make it up to you. He’d even go as far as to go down on his knees and beg for forgiveness if Jaehyun is unwilling to give it. He couldn’t stand the fact that Jaehyun feels insecure about where he stands in his life. And it makes him afraid that even when all that’s left of him is skin and broken bones, Jaehyun would still remain at the top of his list, unchallenged.

But at the same time, the more he thinks about it, the more he sees red. The accusations ring heavy and true, but Jaehyun has some faults of himself that he has to admit. And Taeyong wants to demand some accountability, a lesson learned from his personal history. He’s braver this time, he thinks. He could confront it and stand against it, with shaky knees, yes, but he could.

“Look, I know, okay?” he says, voice weak and fragile. “I know I haven’t been the best boyfriend lately. I haven’t been the best at loving you, and it fucking breaks me too because you’re right. You don’t ask too much from me. All you ever wish is for me to be there when you come home, to be the one you could tell your day to and the one who’d kiss all your stress away. And I haven’t been that, I _know._ And I’m so sorry.” His voice breaks. “But this is so unfair.”

Jaehyun blinks. “Unfair?” he scoffs. “You made it feel like I was in this relationship alone. I’ve been getting nothing from you, Yong. Not even a kiss or a hug. How is that—”

“Is that why you cheated on me?” Taeyong snaps, furious that Jaehyun doesn't listen. But despite the ringing of his ears, he wanted to take the words back as soon as it left his mouth.

Jaehyun looks like a porcelain shattering. A delicate piece of beauty, now broken and unamendable. Sure, maybe a part of him wanted to hurt Jaehyun too, but seein him like this breaks his heart all the same. He wanted to throw all his pride out the damn window and ask for forgiveness even if he's not the one who should be seeking for it. Love is so fucking stupid, he thinks.

Silence follows. The worst kind. The one where you know whatever comes next is nothing good. The kind that makes you want to fold in on yourself or to just disappear. Perhaps, inexistence is a good idea right now. Not dying, bur just ceasing to exist in the first place. To _not_ be, Taeyong thinks, that is the answer.

After a few long seconds, Jaehyun’s voice finally comes out almost as nothing but a breath of air, but Taeyong catches the single word he utters. “ _What..?”_

The next words come out forced, sharp and broken, like edges of a broken glass, “I’ve noticed it, Jae,” Taeyong speaks quietly. “When you asked me if you could stay the night at work, that wasn’t the first time, was it? It was just the first time I paid attention so you had to ask. Then you come home wearing someone else’s shirt? Smelling different? You took advantage of all that time I spent in the studio to get your satisfaction somewhere else. Then you have the audacity to introduce me to _him_? As if I wouldn’t notice how your eyes linger on each other longer than necessary? And the touches? _God._

“Then what? You come home to me like nothing happened, like I wouldn’t notice anything because I’m too in my head. And you’ll give me _shit_ like this—” he raises the leather box and throws it in Jaehyun’s direction. The force is too weak so it lands on the floor, the box splitting open and the gold bracelet falling with a noisy clatter. “—as what? Compensation? So I can look past it?” His tongue is moving on its own now, as if a compartment from his brain has opened up like a dam and he had to let it all out. “I don’t want it. I don’t care what today is. I don’t care what it’s for. I’m sorry, I just…” He chokes on a sob. “Fuck. You _know_ how much this broke me in the past. I trusted you and I thought you loved me differently. I just… I never thought you would…”

A single drop of tear falls on Jaehyun’s cheeks as he purses his lips. He wipes it immediately, shifting his weight on his foot, as if standing suddenly seems very uncomfortable. “You think—“ his voice breaks. He swallows before speaking again, but the words still sounded as broken. “You think I’m cheating on you?”

Taeyong allows his silence to be the reply. Jaehyun understands.

“You really think I could do that to you?” The younger sounds so betrayed. Taeyong doesn’t understand. Jaehyun’s gaze falls onto the gold bracelet, just lying on the floor. Pathetic. The handwritten note has flown off somewhere, forgotten. “Just because it’s inconvenient, I’d give up on you and move on to someone else. _That’s_ how you think of me?”

Something seems to be weighing the corners of Taeyong’s lips downwards. It’s falling despite his sobs. He chokes on his next words, all of it coming ever so silently, “You don’t tell me you love me anymore.”

Jaehyun forces an empty laugh, but he’s also crying now. “ _That’s_ your basis? Shit, Taeyong if that’s how it works then you stopped loving me longer than I have.”

 _No._ That can't be right. He’s been saying it, right? He has, and he gets no reply. There’s always no reply.

“... which makes sense because honestly, I don’t feel like you do anymore.”

“Jaehyun,” Taeyong pleads. He isn’t really sure what for.

“No, shut up. I’m so fucking tired, Yong. Don’t fucking pin this on me.”

“You’re dodging—”

“I’m not dodging anything because it’s not fucking true!” Jaehyun shouts and it was more than enough to make Taeyong feel so little. “God, I can’t believe you think I’d hurt you that you made an entire story in your head. Do you not trust me?”

“I wanted to, but…” Taeyong sobs. But what? The signs? He's noticed them, but has he even seen any solid proof? This is him asking for a confirmation. This is him willing to accept the pain. But Jaehyun seems to be on a different track. “What did you want me to think, Jae?”

“I wanted you to believe in me the same way I believe in you,” Jaehyun seethes. “That’s all I’m asking for. Is that so fucking hard?”

"Believe in me? You just said I should just go date Yuta instead. Is that how you believe in me? He's my _best friend,_ for fuck's sake," Taeyong retorts. His entire body is trembling now, but the tremors are so minimal that Jaehyun doesn’t notice just yet. Even if he does, the anger evident in his eyes and the way he speaks are enough to tell Taeyong he wouldn’t be doing anything.

"So what, he comes before me? What did he even need you for, tonight out of all nights? What's so fucking important that you had to come home so late?"

"I didn't want to be here!" Taeyong snaps. " _I_ called him, because I needed someone. I didn't want to spend an entire day with you while all those thoughts of you being with someone else runs in my head. It hurts too much, Jae."

"You fucking made those thoughts up!"

"And nothing you've been saying is clearing them up!" Taeyong bites back. "I'm not trying to ruin us, Jaehyun, _please_. I just want you to be honest with me."

He still doesn’t understand. He got no explanation. It’s still just a massive reply of trying to find the blame and not wanting to accept any. If he looks at it through the same goggles he’d been wearing this past few weeks, one that had been scarred and tainted by the past, all he’d have heard is an excuse. But Taeyong could hear the sound of disbelief and hurt and the feeling of being betrayed in Jaehyun’s voice.

He heard the unsaid pleas, _take it back,_ but he couldn’t. He was so fixed on the idea that Jaehyun couldn’t remain faithful to a boyfriend who didn’t act like one, to someone who has made their home a hostile place. He was so sure that because he hasn’t been his best at being a lover or a partner or a best friend, Jaehyun would find those comforts in someone else. He was so used to being used that perhaps he started seeing things where there aren’t any. That’s what his past taught him anyway. That’s what he’s been guarding himself against. Perhaps he went overboard.

"You want honest? Fine," Jaehyun says. "I spent all those nights at work because I didn’t feel like I had anyone to come home to anymore. Somehow, you made that hellhole of a place feel homier than this apartment. And the shirts? Doyoung was bringing me stuff from his own closet because I couldn’t even be bothered to return home and change. I _hated_ coming home. He thinks I’m stupid for not talking things out with you and he hates that my shirts are wrinkled when our supervisors are roaming on our floor. He was looking out for me as a _friend_ , because I forgot to look out for myself and the person who’s supposed to remind me doesn’t anymore. That’s all there is to it. He wasn’t trying to fuck me, nor was I trying to fuck him. For the record, he’s fucking in love with Johnny."

"Jae—"

"I'm not done," the younger snarls. "I was willing to look past every single one of your shortcomings because I thought you'll come back to me. You always do. But I'm losing you too much and too quickly and I got tired. I know I changed too, but I just never felt like you loved me as much as I love you. You never put as much effort in us as I do, and I'm getting tired of pretending that's okay. Is that honest enough? I have more.

“I sometimes regret that I suggested converting the spare room into your studio. I hate that that room gets to see you more than I do. I hate that if you’re upset about us, you run to Yuta first before you talk to me. I fucking _hate_ that you even thought I’d ever cheat on you. And you made me wish you never got the exhibit deal in the first place—There. _Fuck_ , I said it. Happy?”

Taeyong’s lips continue to quiver as he tries to keep his gaze locked on the younger’s. Perhaps this is how being shot feels like, he thinks. The pain is unimaginable but your brain won’t absorb that something has gone so deep through your skin that you just sit there, staring. You couldn’t move because you’re afraid it would hurt. You touch the blood just to check if it’s real, and when you see that it is, you get lost in denial. _It can’t be._

“You don’t mean that,” Taeyong says, except it was more like begging. 

“I wish I don’t,” Jaehyun replies quietly.

 _No, not you too_ , Taeyong sobs to himself. Something between them feels like it has been severed, like heartstrings snapping apart, tightropes breaking under his feet, sending him on a crash. 

He simply watches as Jaehyun gathers his phone and keys from the kitchen counter, stuffing it inside his pocket. He was too busy absorbing what Jaehyun just said, trying to understand how it shifts the entire narrative, how he could be wrong and is probably is. He never really looked at it any other way. So he doesn’t register what the younger is doing until he’s grabbing his coat from the rack and putting it on. 

"So you're just running away?" Taeyong's voice is so small even to his own ears.

"I don't know how I can stay with you right now, Taeyong. You've made loving you _very_ hard. We need to stop," Jaehyun replies, already putting his shoes on. "Or at least pause. This is killing us."

"We're done..?" Idiot, Taeyong thinks to himself.

Jaehyun's silence is enough confirmation.

"Jaehyun." A plea.

The younger stands up and buttons his coat, eyes not meeting Taeyong. "I might ask someone to drop by tomorrow. I don't know. Just... I'll get my stuff."

"Jae." _Please._ "I wasn't trying to drive you away."

"I know." Jaehyun sighs. "You did anyway."

When he reaches for the doorknob, Taeyong seems to be frozen in place, unable to stop him. “Do you still even love me?” He tries desperately.

Jaehyun forces a smile. There is something melancholic in his eyes, as if the ice has thawed and Taeyong could finally see how he too has been hurting terribly. It was almost as if he regrets opening the door, but he won’t change his mind anyway. “Too much, Yong,” Jaehyun answers. “Do you?”

Before Taeyong could reply, the door slams shut again. Then it hits him all at once. A tsunami wave that kills. A stampede of elephants stomping on his lungs until they’re unable to process air. _I love you,_ but in reverse.

Taeyong’s knees buckle and he meets the floor, breaking down, almost melting into the cold tiles. Four years, he thought, four best years of his life that he’d been blessed to have someone who understands what he loves and what he does, who knows what his heart wants declared and what it wants to hold in silence. Four years under the sturdy columns, and a few weeks to send it all into ashes.

 _Fire_ , that’s all there is from this point of view with no attempt to change it. 

He's not sure what's worse: giving up everything to convince himself he got it right the first time when it isn't, or losing everything after he convinced himself he was wronged even when he finally got it right. He lost himself in the first one, but he lost Jaehyun on the second. The latter hurts more, he decides. Too little, too late.

The door is shut, and the painting is ablaze. This is the collapse. And the next comes nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've made it this far, i wanna say 1.) wow 2.) im sorry and 3.) thank you :[
> 
> u know in hindsight, i should probably stop giving taeyong sad and traumatic backstories. maybe next time. anw please tell me what you think! :>


	5. lose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> —of falling into place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, im sorry for how long this is. my mind went to hell and back for this chapter. some parts of it are also frustrating LMAO
> 
> anw, i removed the “probably” after the “happy ending” in the tags now ksjdhsj 
> 
> ENJOY!

**Fall, v.**

— _to fail to keep, sustain, or maintain_

No one arrives to take Jaehyun’s things the next day. Taeyong tries his best not to put too much hope in it. But when he hears a knock on the door, he thinks twice before opening it. He realizes he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it turns out to be Jaehyun or any of his friends. Part of him thinks he’ll end up on his knees again.

Thankfully, that’s not the case. He opens the door with a look that’s half hopeful, half miserable. What greets him on the other side is a fairly confused delivery man. “For Jung Jaehyun?”

Taeyong short circuits. _He doesn’t live here,_ he almost replies. But he pinches himself by the thighs and nods. “I can receive it for him.”

“Are you related to him?” the man asks.

Taeyong almost punches the stranger in the face, but he simply puts on a tight smile instead. “No,” he exhales. “Just his roommate.”

That’s good enough for the delivery man. Taeyong signs his name on some papers and takes the parcel into their room. He gets his phone and sends Jaehyun a text—the latest one from the thirty-something ones he’s sent him over the past 24 hours or so. None of them received a reply.

Frustration grows on Taeyong like vines of a poison ivy. But more than anything, he’s worried. Where did Jaehyun run off to? Is he okay? Is he sleeping well? Eating well? How does he shower? Has he changed his clothes? Did he bring some padding? Is he cold? Taeyong has no idea. None of his calls came through. Obviously, Jaehyun doesn’t want to talk. So Taeyong has to resort to convincing himself, _he’s okay._ Maybe he went to Doyoung—ironic as that would be. Or Johnny. Or some other friend Taeyong doesn’t know about. He would’ve texted them and asked how Jaehyun was doing, but he realized he didn’t know their phone numbers.

With the desperation he feels, an idea for a trip to Jaehyun’s office comes to mind. But Taeyong stops himself immediately. It would do more harm than good, he knows it. _Stop acting crazy,_ he imagines Jaehyun saying.

So he keeps to himself. He only goes out for a while to buy a few large boxes and two pieces of bungeoppang that served as his meal for the entire day. He calls some friends, asks if they know some vacant spaces, tries to negotiate on some things. When he goes back home, he lets his hands work. Not painting, no. Just sorting and arranging his studio. He doesn’t stop until his mind no longer screams at him for losing Jaehyun. He worked until he became so exhausted that his eyes didn’t know better than to shut themselves close and allow him some hours of sleep.

Nothing changes when he wakes up. He’s still alone and lonely. But today, he has to suck it up. He has to send the rest of his pieces to the gallery. Song Minjung, the director, has called him about five times in the past two days already. That’s five more than Jaehyun did. The world doesn’t stop spinning even if he’s lost half of his heart, it seems. Well, it’s not like he expected anything better from this goddamn life, but he’d also be lying if he says he didn’t hope for a little bit.

On the way to the gallery, he wonders what it feels like to jump off of a moving truck. Would it end him or would it just send him in even more pain? What would the people around him say? He thinks Yuta will just flick him in the forehead coupled with an hour-long scolding. Jaehyun would probably be more dramatic about it. Or maybe not. He doesn’t know anymore. Unfortunately, Taeyong never found out the answer.

He arrives at the gallery safe and sound. Minjung greets him with the biggest smile. She adores Taeyong, almost treats him like a younger brother. But her admiration for his work is tenfold. She’d been monitoring the progress of his pieces, but this is the first time she’s seeing them finished. In awe and amazement, she made his art seem more special than how Taeyong currently feels about them. Romantic and melancholic, that’s the feeling it gives, she tells him, “as if the thematics of Picasso’s blue period and rose period paintings have joined each other in an afternoon walk under the autumn trees.”

But Taeyong stops listening when he hears her say Picasso. That’s just the business talking, he thinks. He’s not all that great.

“Pardon me if I’ve already asked but,” Minjung tilts her head, “is there a muse?”

Without missing a beat, Taeyong answers almost automatically, “My boyfriend.”

Minjung sighs in a dramatic, romantic movie-esque kind of way. She clasps her hands together, eyes sparkling. “Sounds like a perfect couple.”

Taeyong almost laughs. _Perfect couples don’t exist_ , he wanted to say. But he just nods, thinking if anything comes closest to perfection, maybe it’s him and Jaehyun. 

They’re different, sure, but complementary. They’ve learned to acknowledge it over time, filling in the spaces the other leaves open. Like jigsaw puzzles, they’re less complicated when together. But like jigsaw puzzles too, sometimes the slightest nuisance sends their pieces in disarray.

They don’t usually fight. It’s mostly just little arguments about who gets to take out the trash or who forgot to turn off the stove while boiling eggs. Other times, it’s more being upset than mad, like that one time Jaehyun pranked Taeyong by switching the bottle caps of his paint and Taeyong thought he was going color blind (He was stressed that time, he didn’t know what color blindness meant). Sometimes, trouble brews simply when they’ve missed each other for too long. Those kinds of arguments were almost always fixed with a kiss on the lips and several somewhere elses. Almost always, there’d be an “I love you,” mumbled as a promise or just a statement in passing, and that’s it. Problem solved. The day is saved.

Other times, very rarely, the misunderstandings get out of hand. Words often get lost in translation and efforts become overlooked. Those times, Taeyong hates himself the most. Somehow, he thinks it’s almost always his fault.

The first fight happened just a few months after they started dating. Taeyong doesn’t remember exactly what it was about, but he does remember getting really mad about something Jaehyun said. It was probably about work. For some reason, Jaehyun got mad that Taeyong got mad. It got pretty messy, but after a few days of no contact, they realized they couldn’t stand not being together so they got over it pretty quickly too.

The second one was a month after they moved in together. Taeyong had one too many drinks at an afterparty for an auction event. He wasn’t able to go home after having passed out on his client’s couch. Of course, Jaehyun got worried sick. Some jealousy also etched its way in there somehow. His frustrations easily translated into anger and Taeyong could swear Jaehyun was about to leave him. He remembers thinking where he would go if he ever moves out. They just moved in together, but Taeyong already thought they were at the end. Jaehyun told him to stop thinking that way before kissing the shit out of him. That seemed to solve it.

The biggest fight was also the pettiest one. It happened when Taeyong was at the stage where he believes he will never ever find anything better than what he has with Jaehyun. “Top tier relationship,” he remembers telling Yuta. Unfortunately, at the time, Jaehyun was also just a few months away from promotion, and his tension was at an all time high.

One night, Jaehyun comes home with heavy set shoulders. Taeyong knew he had a bad day even before he opened his mouth. He tried to console him despite not knowing why the glum, but Jaehyun brushed him off like dust. He finally told Taeyong halfway through dinner that he might not get the promotion. Something about a monthly report missing something important—Taeyong doesn’t really understand. But he assures Jaehyun it’ll work out anyway. “I believe in you, baby,” he said. Jaehyun just muttered a half-assed thanks and asked him to leave him alone for a while. So Taeyong did.

Except when he came to offer the younger some tea just to ease him off the stress for a bit, Jaehyun’s high-strung nerves knocked the cup out of Taeyong’s hands. It spilled all over the stacks of papers beside him—the report, Taeyong assumes. The cup lands on the floor with a smash.

Taeyong was quick to tears, mumbling sorry as he picked up the broken shards of glass on the floor. Taeyong expected Jaehyun to shout. He’s never shouted at him before. But Taeyong is familiar with this scene. He’s seen it too many times growing up, frustrations being let out in raised voices. But that night, he learned silence could be just as deafening, and perhaps, even more disarming.

The only thing Jaehyun said after was, “Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?” His voice was excruciatingly cold, coming through gritted teeth.

Taeyong fled. He didn’t really go far. He had nowhere to go to. The lobby of their building became his safe place that night. When Jaehyun called him before midnight, saying nothing but, “Come back here. We need to talk,” Taeyong thought, _this is it. This is the end._ He felt as if the stars had been waiting for him to fuck up for quite a while now. He’s been happy for too long. It’s time to take it all away.

So when he got back to their apartment and Jaehyun called his name, his first instinct was to kneel. He cried his sorries, several of them. For being annoying, for being too much, for not knowing when to stop. Then comes the begging. “Don’t go,” he remembers saying. “Please don’t leave me.”

He’s so used to begging for love, it comes as easily as blinking. Pathetic. 

Jaehyun told him to cut it out. He pulled Taeyong up from his knees. That’s only when Taeyong realized he’s been crying too. Jaehyun asked why he’s saying sorry when it’s not his fault. Taeyong tells him that he feels like it is. But Jaehyun shakes his head, wipes his tears, and kisses him. “You blame yourself too much,” Jaehyun told him. “Don’t do that to yourself. Not with me.”

Taeyong didn’t really understand what he meant by it at the time but he nodded nonetheless.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jaehyun said. He searched Taeyong’s eyes for a reply. When he didn’t get any, he added, “I promise. Okay?”

“Okay.” Taeyong put all his hope in it. 

  
  
  
  


Jaehyun feels like an idiot. He couldn’t understand the weird mix of anxiety and giddiness inside his chest as the scene outside Johnny’s car window becomes more and more familiar. He doesn’t know why he’s expecting anything different. He hasn’t even been gone that long. It has only been seven days since he left, three days since Taeyong stopped texting.

Today, he’s set out to gather his stuff from the apartment, something he probably should’ve done days ago. But pride, fear, and something else he couldn’t identify stopped him from doing so. He went as far as shopping for some office clothes just to have something to wear. His friends, generous as they are with letting him borrow some items from their wardrobe, are barely hanging on their loose threads of patience. So Jaehyun figures he ought to get his stuff soon before Doyoung loses his shit and Johnny kicks him out of his apartment.

He texted Taeyong an hour ago: “ _will stop by to get my stuff. u don’t have to be home, just giving u a heads up._ ” He still hasn’t gotten a reply. Jaehyun is beginning to wonder if Taeyong has deleted his contact or gotten a new number. Would Taeyong do that? Jaehyun doesn’t think so, but what does he know anymore?

“Are you sure you’re just gonna get your stuff?” Johnny asks from the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, what else?” Jaehyun mutters from the backseat.

Johnny shrugs before shifting gear. “I dunno. I mean, if you’re just getting your things then why did you want us to just drop you off? How are you gonna carry your entire closet alone?”

Jaehyun is about to reply when Doyoung turns around from the passenger’s seat to, giving him a—to put it nicely—judgmental look. “What if Taeyong’s home?”

“Then he is,” Jaehyun answers simply. “So what?”

“No stay overs?” Johnny smirks.

“No. Why would I? I’m the one who left, remember?”

“Not even for a few hours? How about closure talk?”

“I really don’t care,” Jaehyun grumbles.

“Do you really not?” Doyoung asks. He sounds a little too hurt for someone who has no business in other people’s relationship, Jaehyun thinks.

Johnny snorts. “Lies,” he says, meeting Jaehyun’s eyes through the rearview mirror. “He’s still hoping that Taeyong’s home. Look at him,” he laughs. “Taeyong hasn’t replied yet so he’s growing impatient.”

“Yeah, but what if he just wants him to be home because he wants Taeyong to see he’s fine without him?” Doyoung asks.

Johnny laughs even louder. “Please,” he scoffs. “That just means he cares all the more! How much do you wanna bet this breakup won’t even last two weeks?”

Jaehyun groans. “Stop talking about me as if I’m not literally right fucking here.” But no one pays him any attention.

“I _don’t_ want to bet,” Doyoung huffs. “We both know how Jaehyun’s been so drained lately. Maybe a break from Taeyong is just what he needs. I mean, look at him so carefree. He looks better now,” he argues, before adding, “Relatively.”

Jaehyun frowns. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Hell, trust me,” Johnny looks pointedly at Doyoung, who reminds him to keep his goddamn eyes on the road. “He’s faking that I-don’t-care-anymore vibe. One study says everything you do for the next two months following a break up is a nudge towards your ex, one way or another.”

“That can’t be legit,” Jaehyun mutters in the backseat. The same time Doyoung says, “Stop making shit up!”

“Besides, the most obvious reason is literally that it’s only been a week,” Johnny continues. Doyoung just rolls his eyes. “Come on, Doie. Have you ever been in love?”

As the brakes slam, Doyoung chokes on his own spit, ears burning red. Johnny says sorry and asks him if he’s okay, but Jaehyun knows better. He would’ve teased Doyoung but his hyung is still too busy figuring out how to breathe so he just keeps his mouth shut.

“Seriously though, Jae,” Johnny says. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan is to get some of my stuff. That’s it,” he answers, crossing his arms over his chest.

Doyoung hits him next with a harder question. “And if Taeyong’s there and wants to talk?”

Jaehyun hums. The truth is he hasn’t really thought about it yet. He allowed his anger to stir his decisions on the night he left. He hasn’t re-evaluated them since. He’s been staying with Johnny, mostly because it didn’t feel right staying with Doyoung. He no longer has to work for longer hours, but he forces himself to do so because he needs some means to suppress. Every time his mind strays and wanders to Taeyong, he pushes himself a little bit harder. And when he’s left with absolutely nothing else to work on, he takes Sungchan out for a drink. He wouldn’t let himself feel, wouldn’t let himself think. 

“Cool coping mechanism,” Sungchan said to him two nights ago.

Jaehyun couldn’t tell if he was being serious or sarcastic so he just glared at him.

He let Taeyong’s calls and texts go unanswered. He doesn’t read them. He’s scared of what he might do. But as the days went by, his fury died down into a calmer, yet more scalding fire of shame. He couldn’t believe what he said to Taeyong. He chastised him for his passion, punished him for what he loves. It’s true—that night, Jaehyun wanted to hurt him, too. He wanted Taeyong to go through the same hurt he feels at being accused of something he’d never in a million years do. But perhaps he went overboard.

He always knew Taeyong’s facade of pretend-indifference is easy to shatter. And shatter it, Jaehyun certainly did. He saw how easily his words broke his hyung, how quickly life drained out of his beautiful brown eyes. Jaehyun became the exact thing he promised himself he wouldn't become. So as much as he hated Taeyong for what he thought of him, he hated himself too.

So no, he hasn’t really confronted whatever feelings he has left nor has he thought of what happens next if he ever sees Taeyong.

His reply comes more of an improvisation than anything. “Then we’ll talk.” He shrugs before immediately changing the topic, already sick of the hot seat. “Doyoung hyung,” he calls, “what are you even doing here? It’s Sunday. How come we’re seeing each other seven days a week? I’ve been seeing the two of you more than I do my own boyfriend. It’s getting weird.”

Johnny yaps. “God, _see!_ He still calls him boyfriend!”

Jaehyun curses himself. It just slipped. “Force of habit,” he mutters.

Doyoung just chuckles but he no longer contributes to the teasing. When he turns to Jaehyun once again, his eyes are sparkling. “I invited Johnny hyung with me to attend this cooking class I’m taking.”

“Cooking class? But you already cook well,” Jaehyun muses.

“A client gave me a coupon last Christmas. It’s about to expire and I didn’t wanna waste it, so,” Doyoung shrugs. “It’s cool though. They teach a lot of techniques. We’re making _agujjim_ today.”

“Sounds couple-y, you taking Johnny hyung with you.” Jaehyun smirks.

Doyoung’s face simmers red. “It does _not!”_

But in the driver’s seat, Johnny laughs aloud and says, “I thought so too!” It would’ve been perfect going in Doyoung’s direction, but then Johnny adds, “Maybe I should invite Ten sometime.” Jaehyun could swear he saw Doyoung’s shoulders sag, like a balloon deflating, but he no longer points it out. Poor Doyoung.

Johnny finally drops him off in front of his apartment building a few turns later. He tries not to think of the last time he was here, but he couldn’t not. He remembers exactly how it feels watching Taeyong come out of Yuta’s car after he waited for him for hours. He remembers having to remind himself to calm down. _Don’t say anything if you have nothing nice to say,_ his mother always told him. The amount of restraint he had on his anger that night was unimaginable.

He shakes the memory off and walks into the building. He presses the button “8” on the elevator and waits. He was calm walking all the way to the door of their apartment, but when he raises his arms to knock, he realizes his hands are shaking.

“Taeyong?” he calls after the second knock. The name feels weird on his tongue, as if he no longer has the right to say it. The door remains closed. Jaehyun tries again. “Yong?” No answer.

Taeyong is either out or once again lost in his head inside his studio. Either way, he wouldn’t be able to answer the door. So Jaehyun takes his spare key and opens it.

 _Fuck,_ Jaehyun thinks to himself. He doesn’t even realize how much he misses the faint smell of Taeyong’s jasmine-scented febreze until it hits him the moment he enters the door. They used to disagree on the scent. Jaehyun liked lavender better, but Taeyong convinced him to just finish the jasmine bottle they just bought. By the next trip to the grocery, Jaehyun automatically reaches for the jasmine one without much thought. Smells like home, that’s what it is now.

Like the streets leading to here, nothing has really changed in the apartment. Jaehyun didn’t really expect anything either, but he realized he also didn’t think it would be so...normal? As if its walls didn’t witness hearts breaking; as if the apartment didn’t really care whether or not he came home.

Taeyong’s old sneakers aren’t by the door, but his phone is charging on the kitchen counter. The signs are confusing. Taeyong doesn’t usually go out in anything other than the pair of Vans he bought two years ago. If they’re not by the foot, he’s probably out. But if he is, then why is his phone here?

“Hyung?” he calls again. When no reply comes, he checks the bathroom and bedroom—both empty. He decides to check the studio last, because if Taeyong is at home, then he’s most likely in his studio; and if he’s in the studio, he’s probably too busy to spare more than a few seconds to talk.

Jaehyun knocks but he doesn’t wait for an answer. He twists the knob and pushes the door slightly, just enough so he could peek his head in. He expects the usual: paint bottles lined up, the smell of paint fumes in the air, stacks of canvases of unfinished works with the uncertainty of an end. He expects to see Taeyong too, his hands moving like fluid, his brush dancing along the canvas, his ears plugged with unhealthily loud music.

Jaehyun thought he’d be greeted by the same scene he’s become used to the past many nights. But what greets him instead is a plain, blank nothing.

He blinks twice, eyes closed longer the second time, just to make sure if it’s real. When nothing changes, he feels something weigh on his chest.

The room is too bare. Almost everything that made it Taeyong’s wonderland is gone. No him, no artworks, no empty canvases. There’s only a few rolls of tarpaulin on one corner. Beside it stands three unopened cans of wall paint. _Thundercloud gray,_ they read.

The random splashes of color on the vinyl tiles are still there. So are the two handprints on the wall, blue and black. “This is our tree mark,” Taeyong told him some months ago. He convinced Jaehyun to put a brand on the studio by marking the walls with their palms. 

“What the hell is a tree mark?” he remembers asking.

“You know, like those corny things in movies where lovers carve their names on trees to profess their love. I don’t like hurting trees,” Taeyong answered.

“And this is the next best thing?” 

Taeyong nodded, completely serious.

“Okay.” Jaehyun shrugged, thinking _fuck it_ before dipping his palms on black paint and printing it on the wall just beside the blue one Taeyong made. (He smacked Taeyong’s ass after so the older walked around with a faint handprint on his right butt cheek the entire day, but that’s a different story.)

Jaehyun runs a heavy hand through his scalp. Pressure is building at the back of his eyelids, but he tries to blink them away. _What the fuck happened here,_ he asks himself, _Where the hell is everything?_

He’s lost. Funny how that could mean two things, and it’d be right for him either way. He doesn’t understand what’s happening nor does he know where to go from here. Taeyong somehow emptied the space, but what for? What does anyone get from this?

Jaehyun doesn’t know. He strayed too far from the corner Taeyong likes enjoying by himself, but welcomes Jaehyun wholeheartedly into. Too far that he no longer has any idea what goes on in it; hasn’t had any idea for quite a while now. He hasn’t asked Taeyong the questions he himself wanted to hear. Their relationship didn’t just become a one-way road, as he so claimed. The entire road collapsed in on itself and nothing has been passing through, he realized. Their downfall is his fault too.

The familiar sound of the front door opening breaks Jaehyun out of his reverie. He freezes. The sudden weakness he feels on his knees tells him he’s not ready to face Taeyong just yet. He blinks several times, trying to dry his already glistening eyes just in case. And when he hears that voice—“Jaehyunie?” it says—his heart shatters once again.

Taeyong appears by the studio door a few moments later. Unlike everything else, he looks quite different. His cheekbones are more prominent, eyes a bit more defined by the dark circles around it. He has some makeup on but Jaehyun could tell the flaws they’re trying to conceal. Taeyong has lost some weight, lost some color. Guilt bubbles inside the younger’s chest.

He looks at Jaehyun, lips puckered slightly, eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of shock and confusion. Jaehyun forces his steps until he’s just a few feet away from the door, a few feet away from his hyung.

“Hi,” he mutters.

Taeyong purses his lips in a tight smile before replying. “Hi,” he says. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I texted you.”

“Oh. Um. I kinda’ left my phone. Sorry.”

Jaehyun only nods, both his hands flying into the backpocket of his jeans. He couldn’t meet Taeyong in the eye.

Taeyong takes a few steps away, gesturing towards the kitchen. “I’ll just get it then go. Don’t let me bother you,” he says with a forced smile. 

Jaehyun’s eyes follow him as he unplugs his phone. The screen lights up, allowing Jaehyun a glimpse. His heart skips a beat. Taeyong hasn’t changed his lock screen. It’s still a photo of them. _I’m an idiot,_ he thinks to himself.

“So what are you…?” Taeyong trails off. His gaze meets Jaehyun as he walks back to where the younger stands, but Jaehyun looks away immediately. Taeyong clears his throat. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh,” he bites the inside of his cheek. “I came to get my stuff.”

“Oh. Yeah. I assumed that,” Taeyong says. “I mean, here, in the studio. What are you doing here?”

Jaehyun forces himself to look at his hyung, but he’s no longer looking back, eyes wandering around the empty room. “I was looking for you,” Jaehyun answers. “Thought you’d be here as usual, but—” he frowns “—what happened…?”

Taeyong looks down on his feet. “Well, you said you regret turning it into a studio, so I converted it back to… this. Blank canvas,” he forces a laugh. “It can be anything now. I’ve taken most of my stuff but I still haven’t got time to paint over the walls. I’ll do it as soon as the exhibit’s opening is done though. Don’t worry.”

Jaehyun frowns. He feels as if his head is surrounded by water and it’s too difficult to breathe. “Where did you take your things?”

“I found a small studio just three blocks from here. Kun recommended it to me. You remember him? From the—”

“From the museum, yeah.” Jaehyun met him about a year ago.

“Yeah. It’s a nice space and it’s affordable too. So I rented it as soon as I received my down payment.”

The younger shakes his head, incredulous. “But why?”

Taeyong chews on his lip for a few seconds before replying. “I actually wanna talk to you about that,” he says, averting Jaehyun’s gaze. “I just think, between us, you should get this apartment.”

“What?” Jaehyun almost shouts. “Why?”

Taeyong flinches at the slight raise of his voice. His right hand massages his left wrist in circles like how he does when he’s nervous. It takes every ounce of Jaehyun's strength to stop himself from just grabbing them and kissing his knuckles, telling him it’s okay, there’s nothing to worry about.

“I was just thinking,” Taeyong says with an exhale, “This new arrangement between us changes things, right? I mean, you’re here to take away your stuff so I assume you don’t wanna live with me anymore, right?” He forces another laugh. “Which means one of us has to go for good. I know you’re the one who ran away but, you know very well my pay has always been shitty. My job is not as much as yours. You’ve always been the one who contributed more to the bills and stuff, especially the rent. So if anyone should get this apartment, it’s you. I think.”

Jaehyun doesn’t reply. He didn’t know what to expect coming up here, but this is definitely not it. What the fuck does he even say to that? Is this closure? Is this what they both want? Taeyong thinks it’s what Jaehyun wants, but what the fuck? What. The. Fuck. Is this the ending? Are they really just until here? The confusion must’ve been reflected on Jaehyun’s face because Taeyong kept explaining even when he just wanted him to stop.

“You don’t have to decide now. I know it’s kind of a big thing, but I also want you to know that I’d really be okay with leaving. And also,” he sighs as if whatever he’s about to say next is taking too much of his composure, “I’m still worried about you, okay? I don’t know where you’re currently staying but I doubt it’s a long-term thing. It’s really hard to look for a decent place nowadays, believe me. Getting the deal for that tiny room was hell. But I got it anyway, so I’d rather you stay, I’ll go. You can do whatever you want with the studio now.” He shrugs. “I’m ready to leave whenever. I’ve sorted some of my things out too. Don’t worry though, I didn’t touch any of your stuff.”

Jaehyun didn’t mean to, but his voice breaks the next time he speaks, and all he said was, “Yong.”

Taeyong smiles, still tight-lipped. “It’s really okay, bab—I mean, Jae.”

“Where will you go?”

“The new studio,” Taeyong answers. “I can put a bed there. That’s all I need, really.”

 _No_ , Jaehyun wants to say. _You used to need me too. It’s only been a week. How are you so sure about leaving? Didn’t I say we can just pause? Didn’t you at least wait for me to come back?_

But the words die down in his throat because, fuck, how hypocritical does that sound? How fucking selfish of him. It _has_ only been a week, yet he’s here to take his stuff away as if he’ll never return. He made these decisions first, Taeyong is just adjusting to make it easier for him somehow. But it’s not, because those decisions were born out of anger and now there’s none of the seeing red. It’s all just blue, and Taeyong stands in the center of it all, glowing yellow, like the warm color of the autumn leaves on a cold autumn day. Ironic but not really out of place.

“Taeyong,” he says again, but his mind blanks out. If he speaks any more, he’s afraid he would cry.

Taeyong reaches out for his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “It’s fine,” he mutters. “Don’t worry about me. I’m more comfortable knowing you’re okay here.”

Jaehyun is about to lose it. His eyes and nose are beginning to hurt. He knows Taeyong could see it too, and he also knows that Taeyong is choosing to ignore it so this moment wouldn’t stretch longer than it’s meant to.

When Taeyong lets go of his hand, Jaehyun holds on for two seconds longer. Then he looks away.

“Before I forget,” Taeyong says, walking to the console table by the living room. 

While his back is towards Jaehyun, the younger takes it as a chance to wipe the tears already rimming in his eyes. He takes three deep breaths to try and calm himself down. It works a little bit.

Taeyong comes back with a brochure in hand. Jaehyun sees a flash of gold on Taeyong’s wrist as he’s handed the paper. He realizes the older has been wearing the gift he got him for their not-so-anniversary this entire time. Jaehyun’s heart clenches all the more.

“I emailed you about it earlier. I don’t know if you’ve seen it yet,” Taeyong says. 

_Fall—of multiple meanings,_ the largest letters read. Below it, in smaller font, _An Art Exhibition by Lee Taeyong | Curated by The Luxeart Gallery._ Jaehyun looks at his hyung, eyes expectant.

“My exhibit’s opening on Wednesday. We’ll be having a small event at 6PM. Just a few lame speeches, some wine and stuff.” He lets out an empty chuckle again. Then, out of nowhere, it seems as if something pops his bubble. He sighs. “Just realized you’ll probably still be at work by then. I should’ve told you earlier.”

Jaehyun doesn’t reply. He watches Taeyong do his nervous habit once again, the gold bracelet much more visible now.

“Well, it’s not like you liked the exhibit anyway,” he mutters to himself, “so I guess I shouldn’t expect you there. But keep the invite, just in case you find some time.” Taeyong smiles.

Jaehyun feels as if he’d just been slapped. Or stabbed. Taeyong’s words alone, simple and harmless as they may seem, cut through him like knives and Jaehyun could do nothing but watch himself bleed.

“I’ll try to be there,” he says, but he sounds unsure even to his own ears.

“No pressure,” Taeyong replies light heartedly. “It’s not like… you know. Yeah.” He shrugs. “ _Anyway,_ I have to go. I’m meeting my friends from the museum. I really just stopped by to get my phone. Do you still need anything?”

 _A lot. You. Everything, us back._ “No.”

The older nods. “Okay,” he says. “You look well. I’m glad.”

Jaehyun nods back.

They stay there for a few moments more. _This is the part where we’re supposed to kiss each other goodbye,_ Jaehyun thinks. But of course, they feel like they shouldn’t. So the moment just stretches into a painful kind of awkwardness.

Taeyong nods again before walking to the front door to put on his shoes. Once he’s done, he opens the door and turns around, his body already half-in and half-out. He smiles at Jaehyun one more time. “I guess I’ll see you around,” he says.

“See you around, hyung,” Jaehyun replies.

Another moment of stillness wraps around them. Taeyong lingers by the door as if he still has something to say, or he’s waiting for Jaehyun to say something more. But both their lips remain shut.

Fortunately and not so fortunately, Jaehyun doesn’t need Taeyong to speak to know. He could tell what Taeyong wants to say even before the older utters it out, even when he tries to mask it off with a veil of fake nonchalance, even when he no longer calls him his. It’s all in his eyes, Jaehyun has also learned to read it all. So he knows what the things left unsaid are. He senses the _I’m sorry_ lingering in the air, maybe even an _I miss you,_ both carrying too much weight to only be said in passing. Perhaps in this moment, they are better left unsaid.

Likewise, Jaehyun knows that whatever he utters next, even the most harmless be safe, it’d be enough to make Taeyong’s defenses yield because he would translate it to ‘I love you.’ And the translation would be right, because Jaehyun does still love him, but pride and cowardice makes an oddly lethal combination. So he doesn’t say more and the silence rings in the air like an unwanted goodbye.

Taeyong smiles one last time before finally going out the door. It closes softly, almost hesitantly, but the quiet sound of the latch clicking sends Jaehyun on a downward spiral. 

So this is how it feels in the end that’s left behind, he thinks. How fucking horrible.  
  


  
  
  


At the other side of the door, Taeyong’s world falls apart once again. He’s pretty fucking sure it’s the end this time. Unlike the fights before, Jaehyun wouldn’t stop the collapse this time. No more second chances, the universe seems to be saying.

Taeyong takes two deep breaths, trying to compose himself. He’s doing a shitty job at it, but he forces himself to take some steps nonetheless. When he hears the clatter of keys and the sound of Jaehyun grunting in frustration from inside the apartment, he walks a bit faster.

Unfortunately, he isn’t fast enough.

“Hyung.”

Taeyong whips around, his body acting as if being pulled by the gravity of Jaehyun’s voice. He puts on his most unbothered expression, as if part of him isn’t hopeful and the other part isn’t expecting. “Yeah?” he says.

“Um.” Jaehyun walks out to the hallway, still in his socks. The door catches on the latch.

Taeyong looks at it in alarm. “You bought the keys out right?” he asks. This wouldn’t be the first time they’re locked out like this.

“Yeah,” Jaehyun says sheepishly, raising his hand to show the keys. “I was just gonna ask if, uh…”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow. He knows hope doesn’t really have a place in this scenario, but apparently his heart didn’t get the memo. “What?”

Jaehyun looks around. “Do you, like, um… like, uh…” 

“Jae, come on, spit it out.”

Jaehyun blushes. He clears his throat. “Do you know where my luggage bag is?”

 _Oh._ Taeyong feels stupid. See what happens when you hope? Hearts breaking. Fucking ridiculous.

Taeyong nods and smiles. “It’s inside the cabinet near the bathroom. It’s on the bottom.” Then he frowns. “You’re the one who put it there, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. Right.” Jaehyun chuckles, a hand flying to the back of his head. “Okay. Thanks.”

“Do you need anything else?”

“Um.”

Taeyong waits but Jaehyun is taking too long. “Jae, I really wish I could stay and help but—”

“No! No, it’s okay,” Jaehyun cuts in. “I was gonna offer to walk you downstairs but…” he looks down at his feet.

“You have no shoes on.” Taeyong musters a laugh. “It’s fine. I’m pretty sure I know my way down.”

Jaehyun looks like he wanted to say something more but he just nods and says “Yeah.”

“Just text me if you need anything else, okay?” Taeyong says. “Get inside. The tiles are cold.”

“Okay.”

A beat passes. Taeyong nods. “Right. Bye, Jaehyunie.”

Taeyong turns around before Jaehyun could even reply. He presses the elevator button downwards, not once looking back. When he hears the door to their apartment open and close, he abandons the elevator and runs for the staircase. For some reason, he feels as if he’s being chased. 

On the third flight down, he stops to catch his breath as if he’s been running for miles. His knees give up, he has no choice but to sit down by the steps. When he tries to stifle his gasps by pressing a hand against his mouth, he realizes it was less gasping, more sobbing.

  
  
  
  


On Tuesday, Jaehyun wakes up with a realization: he hates Johnny’s couch. Of course, he was never satisfied with it as a sleeping companion. It’s a couch, for fuck’s sake. But it was tolerable somehow. A short-term replacement for his cozy bed. Today though, because he got home early and Sungchan denied him the pleasure of a drinking companion, he couldn’t sleep so he picks on the things that are wrong with Johnny’s couch.

It’s small and lumpy. It has too many pillows, and every single one is either too hard or too soft. The heater seems to be working better at any other spot in the apartment besides where the couch is placed. In short, it’s shitty. To top it off, whenever Johnny brings home people (i.e. Ten), Jaehyun’s decent upbringing stops him from sleeping in it in front of the guest/s no matter how much Johnny assures him it’s totally fine. He doesn’t mean to be a Goldilocks and all but honestly, fuck this couch.

He twists and turns on the tiny space, trying to find a more comfortable position, but to no avail. A few more minutes of thrashing and he’s already out of breath having kicked off all the pillows to the floor. He lets out one heavy exhale before getting up and picking everything up.

“Who the _fuck_ needs this much pillows anyway,” he grumbles to himself. He retracts the statement a moment later when he remembers Taeyong has almost the same amount, if not more pillows arranged on their couch at home. 

But their pillows had the perfect proportions of hardness to softness, because as much as Taeyong is a sucker for aesthetics and design, Jaehyun is also a sucker for practicality and functionality. They make a pretty good team for shopping, Jaehyun thinks. Well, they used to, at least.

Jaehyun rummages through his backpack—He didn’t get to take his luggage bag as originally planned. _If anyone should get this apartment, it’s you,_ Taeyong told him after all. So he doesn’t see a point in getting all his stuff if he’s gonna go back anyway.

Well, in truth, he’s still thinking about the offer. He might hate Johnny’s couch with raging passion right now, but he knows if he goes back to the apartment, Taeyong would move out. And Jaehyun doesn’t know if he could just let Taeyong stay in a tiny studio somewhere, sleeping in the same room where he keeps his painting supplies whose scents can definitely alter brain chemistry. He sighs to himself, tired at the mere thought of deciding.

He retrieves his earphones and plugs it to his phone. He puts his playlist on shuffle, a Tom Misch song comes on. Strangely and suddenly, the urge to make some grilled cheese sandwich comes. Unfortunately, Johnny neither has bread nor cheese. Jaehyun isn’t even sure Johnny has a goddamn cooking pan. With several restaurants and fast food chains lining up the block, Johnny seems to have everything within reach through a dial on his phone. This apartment is literally just a place to sleep (and other bedroom related stuff that Jaehyun doesn’t want to get into). _No fucking cooking pan needed,_ Jaehyun thinks to himself.

So he settles back down on his bed—no, couch. He kicks off the pillows once again, desperate to make enough space for his legs. He doesn’t pick them up this time. He’ll wake up earlier than Johnny anyway. He’ll just fix everything before the older could even scold him about it.

He shifts and thrashes, trying to find comfort where there is none. After exhausting himself five minutes later, he gives up, heaving. He remains still, eyes closed, Tom Misch singing into his ear _“you’re on my mind”_ over and over. He grabs a pillow from the floor, the closest one within reach, and hugs it. It doesn’t smell like ass—he’ll give Johnny that—but it also doesn’t smell like home. 

That, Jaehyun realized, is where the frustration is coming from.

He misses his bed, the mattress he chose with Taeyong and the pillows he specifically bought for ergonomic purposes. He misses the smell of clean sheets and febreze bedroom mist and scented candles in the air. He wants to wrap himself on the softest duvet and fall asleep in it. It’s only been a week but he’s already tired of coming to Johnny’s apartment just to be greeted by his old lumpy ass couch. Jaehyun is beginning to think he’s starting to forget how it feels to wake up with no neck pains. That scares him somehow.

He knows he’s being overly dramatic but it’s also the truth. 

He doesn’t want to admit that he also misses the feeling of having someone buried in his chest, the warmth shared between two bodies held so close together, and the soft kisses that come with a mumble of goodnight and a promise of I love you. And if anybody asks him if he likes to pretend as if he’s smelling shampoo from the top of Taeyong’s head whenever he brings the pillow closer to his face, he would most definitely deny it and tell that person to fuck off.

Jaehyun shifts to his side. The couch creaks under his weight. He groans when he feels something dull poke a small part of his back. Perhaps a spring out of place. Whatever it is, he decides it’s the final straw. He creates a makeshift bed on the floor using the pillows. It’s way better than the couch.

As he settles into it, he decides he wants his bed back. As his stomach grumbles at the thought of having grilled cheese at 1:30AM, he decides he also wants the rest of his apartment back. Finally, as he brings a pillow to his face and it doesn’t smell like Taeyong no matter how much pretending be does, he swallows his pride and admits to himself that he fucking wants that back too.

The rest of the ordeal, he’ll just worry about later.

  
  
  
  


Taeyong receives a text on Tuesday morning. He’s on his way to the gallery for some last minute detail arrangements. He is definitely not ready for a conversation.

**_Jaehyunie (9:13AM)_ **

_Hey, I’ve decided._

**_TY (9:17 AM)_ **

_hi :)_

_decided on?_

**_Jaehyunie (9:18 AM)_ **

_The apartment?_

**_TY (9:18 AM)_**

_right. okay._

_when do u want me out?_

_i can go by friday._

_or thursday night if u need it asap_

**_Jaehyunie (9:19 AM)_ **

_No. You don’t have to move out._

**_TY (9:20 AM)_ **

_???_

_you found a place?_

Taeyong waits again but when Jaehyun still hasn’t replied after five minutes, he locks his phone. When he gets to the gallery, the conversation abandons his mind completely.

  
  
  
  


The next day, at the opening, some thirty to forty people came. “Wow. This is quite an audience,” Minjung mutters under her breath behind a charming customer service smile. “We haven’t even started yet.”

Beside her, Taeyong feigns confidence with a grin. “Well, you know,” he says, “connections.”

It’s quite a weird mix of people. There are Taeyong’s friends from the museum, a bunch of his loyal clients over the years—some of whom are known around Seoul for being prominent consumers of art, his neighbor from two doors down, some people he’s never met, Yuta (who’s a bit overdressed, by the way), a publicist of sorts, more people he’s never met, a couple of waiters, the gallery staff, and him and Minjung.

It isn’t much, really, but it’s quite a lot for a small art gallery and even more for a starting artist like Taeyong.

“I’m getting worried we don’t have enough wine,” Minjung says.

“I don’t think it’ll get bigger than this though, noona,” Taeyong replies with a nose scrunch. “They’ve come to see me, not Seonna Hong.”

She makes a face. “You’d be bigger than Seonna Hong, Yong-ah, just you see.”

But Taeyong pays no attention. “Besides, this is an exhibit opening, not a bar.”

“Oh you’d be surprised how much artists and buyers drink,” she muses.

Taeyong fakes a gasp. “You think they have to be at least tipsy to enjoy my art?”

Minjung laughs loudly. “If they do, then you know you did good.”

Taeyong only smiles. He doesn’t know what that means. He couldn’t really keep his thoughts straight anymore. His knees are shaking as if he’s standing on a 400-meter high ledge. It’s quite a surprise his voice isn’t trembling yet.

Minjung glances at her watch then excuses herself to talk to the staff. Taeyong takes that moment alone to scan the crowd once again. He’s seen the same faces a few dozen times now. None of them is who he expects the most.

Yuta comes to him and asks with a tone of impatience if Taeyong would ever start the program. Taeyong rolls his eyes and tells him to shut up and just drink his goddamn wine. When Yuta follows Taeyong’s eyes as it moves along the crowd, he realizes what’s causing the hold up and decides he no longer wants to be involved.

When Minjung comes back, she asks, “Should we start? Are you still expecting anyone?”

Taeyong checks his phone for the time. _3:54 PM._ “Let’s wait just a couple more minutes. Is it okay?”

Minjung agrees.

For a moment, Taeyong thinks to himself. If he told Jaehyun he’d be expecting him, would he come? Even if they didn’t run into each other at the apartment, would Jaehyun consider being here? Does he know he’s still the person Taeyong wants here the most even if they’re no longer together? Part of him wants to say yes. But the other part of his brain replays Jaehyun’s voice over and over, _you made me wish you never got the exhibit deal in the first place,_ and it’s enough to pop his hopeful bubble.

 _He won’t come_ , Taeyong tells himself. But he keeps his hopes up nonetheless simply because it’s Jaehyun.

When he sees Minjung walking back towards him, he debates with himself whether to ask for another extension. But he remembers Yuta growing impatient, and he wonders if any of the other guests are too. So when Minjung asks him again if he’s still waiting for anyone else, he says no.

The event starts. Minjung presents some key points about the gallery, its objectives and principles and all that. Taeyong only half-listens. He takes his phone out, fingers automatically maneuvering its way to his conversation thread with Jaehyun. _Are u coming,_ he almost types.

But then he sees the last bubble in the conversation isn’t from him. Jaehyun replied last night. He must’ve missed it.

  
  


**_Jaehyunie (10:17 PM)_ **

_Actually.._

_Can we talk?_

  
  


Taeyong sucks in a breath. What does this mean? Does he want a second break up? A closure? Didn’t they kinda do that already? Does he want to give up the apartment? He was about to reply with a quick apology and some excuse when he heard his name being called. The next thing he knows, Minjung is pulling him towards the platform. He looks around. The gleaming faces and the sound of applause is quite overwhelming.

He forces a smile. _Fuck,_ he thinks. The lobby is full and the number of eyes on him makes him want to set himself on fire, but when he scans the crowd, he couldn’t help but feel like the audience is still short of one person. The room could be hundreds full, but without that one specific face, it would still be short of one person. _Fuck. Just fuck._

He remembers the speech he wrote. It’s in the backpocket of his jeans. The sound of paper echoes through the mic as he unravels it. His hand trembles, his vision spins. He tries to focus on the letters with squinted eyes.

“H-hi.” _Fuck shit fuck._ He’s never one to feel comfortable being the center of attention. “My name is Lee Taeyong, as most of you have probably heard from that intro. And I... paint. Whether I’m good at it, I’ll leave it up to you to decide.”

A soft round of laughter rolls through the crowd. Taeyong relaxes a bit. He straightens his back and exhales before looking at every single face in the room. His eyes continue searching for that specific familiarity, and the same wave of pain comes when he doesn’t find it. He shakes it off and proceeds reading aloud the speech he’s written about two weeks ago.

It starts with an explanation. He tells his audience about how and when he started the present collection, the stories behind it. He talks about fall and its ironies, its multiple meanings, and different points of views; the end for some and the beginning for others—for him, it’s both. All the while, his eyes constantly flick to and away from the entrance, hoping it’ll open and _someone_ would come in. Only strangers did.

He mentions his friends from the museum; Kun, who always set him up for meetings with gallery directors and owners even if he did most of it behind Taeyong’s back; Minjung, of course, for believing in him even though his portfolio is clearly outdated and lacking in quantity; Yuta, just because his insufferable ass wants to be mentioned in a public speech; his mentors all the way back from his uni days; the waiters catering for the event, the staff, and the guests that have taken time off their day to attend the opening. 

When he gets to the final paragraph—“And lastly, to my...”—he trails off. The voice gets caught in his throat as his eyes go through the next couple of lines.

> _To my muse, Jung Jaehyun, thank you for never letting go of my hand throughout this journey. You may be unaware, but you stand in the center of all this. You have been the heart and the breath of my works. Without you, my love, all this would be nothing. I owe you today and several of our yesterdays, but tomorrow, you’ll have all of me again. Thank you, Jaehyunie for your patience and support. I love you._

Taeyong’s ears ring as pressure begins to build at the back of his eyelids and behind his sternum. He looks at the audience again. It’s still short of one person. _My muse,_ his own voice echoes in his head. Yuta stares back at him with a look of concern. 

The mic’s feedback echoes through the speakers. Taeyong blinks. He reads over the lines again. Without its intended audience, he decides there’s no point in reading it out loud. So he skips whatever’s written and wings the rest of the speech. “Lastly,” he repeats, voice shaky, “I know tonight may only be a momentary thing for you all, but it is monumental for me. I’m glad to have shared this day with all of you, and I hope you enjoy these pieces the same way I enjoyed the journey of creating them. Cheers!” He forces a smile.

Applause breaks through the room once more. Taeyong wants to run but Minjung leads him to a ribbon cutting ceremony. He fakes even more smiles and poses for a few cameras. He avoids Yuta’s gaze because he would know he’s crumbling and the last thing Taeyong needs right now is some scolding.

Once the ribbon is cut, he excuses himself for a moment then runs.

He locks himself to the nearest restroom. He takes four deep breaths to calm himself down, but as he inhales for the fifth time, his exhale comes out as a sob. He tries to swallow it but it keeps on coming. Not even a minute later and he’s already breaking down to the sound of lounge jazz playing through the tiny restroom speakers.

For months, he imagined celebrating this day with Jaehyun. He always pictured him among the crowd looking at him like he’s never been more proud of anything else. Taeyong imagined Jaehyun whisking him away from guests every time he manages to slot in between conversations just so he could kiss him on quiet corners and tell him he did a great job. He has always been the person Taeyong imagined he’d be living his dream with. He owes Jaehyun far too much to have a day like this without him. But he lost Jaehyun too soon, and the making of this very exhibit is what destroyed them. 

_I just never felt like you loved me as much as I love you,_ Jaehyun told him that night. Taeyong knew it wasn’t just empty words. That thought had probably been in the younger's head for quite a while now. Taeyong feels it too. Being accused of cheating is just the final straw. Jaehyun had enough, Taeyong is certain of it. So what is he even expecting? _He won’t come,_ he tells himself again. He doesn’t hope for anything else this time.

A series of harsh knocks comes from the door. “Taeyong? Are you there?” It’s Yuta.

He sighs before trying to speak in the most stable voice he can manage. “Yeah. Why?”

“Are you okay?”

“Of course.”

“I know you’re crying in there, idiot. Open up.”

“I’m not,” he lies. “Just… you know. Jitters.”

“Jitters my ass,” Yuta scoffs. “This has nothing to do with your exhibit and everything to do with that little speech of yours. Why didn’t you change it?”

 _Goddammit,_ Taeyong curses himself. He forgot he sent Yuta a copy of the speech so he could proofread it. Jaehyun hasn’t been coming home a lot during that time and he needed a second opinion. “It slipped my mind,” Taeyong grumbles. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I got through it.”

“I know. So why are you locking yourself up? Aren’t you supposed to be talking to your guests or whatever? That director lady is looking for you.” He knocks again. “Come on, open up.”

“I just…” He exhales heavily. “Just need a moment, ‘kay? It got too much. I’ll be out.”

Yuta doesn’t reply for a while. Taeyong almost thought he left him alone. But then he speaks again, less harsher this time. “Did you invite him?”

“Huh?”

“Jaehyun, dumbass. Did you invite him?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong croaks. He leans with his back against the door. His crying has somehow calmed down now.

“So..?”

Taeyong shrugs to himself. “He said he’ll try to come, but you know,” he sighs. “It’s a workday, Yu.”

Yuta hums. The door vibrates as he did so. Taeyong assumes Yuta is also leaning against it. “It’s also pretty dumb to invite him when you’ve broken up,” he says.

Taeyong sighs but doesn’t reply. It’s more complicated than that, but he doesn’t think Yuta would understand.

“But then I saw your works, and it’s just…” Yuta makes a weird noise that sounds like something between a cat’s meow and an explosion. “Like you know I’m not that artsy and stuff, and I suck at getting all the symbolisms and all. But I know, like, all of it is just full of Jaehyun.”

Taeyong chuckles. “At least you got _that_ right.” And then he feels like crying again.

“Oh god. You sound so miserable,” Yuta groans. “Look, I’m sorry to be that person but you really have to pull your shit together right now or it’s gonna be like you-know-who experience 2.0. You have to stop making this about him. People want to talk to you about your art, for fuck’s sake. Please don’t waste this.”

“I _know._ I told you I just need a moment. Just let me calm down,” Taeyong whines. “Jaehyun also asked me if we could talk.”

“Huh,” Yuta muses. “When?”

“Last night. I read his text right before the speech.”

“Oh, Taeyong, you idiot. Why would you…” He trails off with a sigh. “Whatever. We’ll talk about it later. Are you ready now?”

Taeyong takes four deep breaths again. On the fifth inhale, he doesn’t break down in a sob. He looks at himself in the mirror and it surprises him, what he sees. He doesn’t look like an artist at the brink of success or the threshold of discovery. The mirror doesn’t reflect a man who, for years, has hungered to be known in the industry and has finally acquired a stage to showcase his talent. Instead, it shows the boy whose mother has thrown him away for the mere reason of wanting something different; the innocence of a guy that was taken advantage of; the face of a man whose muse has fled, a man who hoped and was let down; furrowed eyebrows and quivering lips, glassy eyes and a broken gaze, all thinly concealed by a facade of strength and feigned confidence that can’t be shattered—not right now.

He splashes some droplets of cold water on his face and breathes. “Yeah,” he answers. “I’ll be out.”

He can get through today even if all he has are dozens of fake smiles and a quick-witted charm. That’s all he needs, after all. He’s good to go.

  
  
  
  
  


Jaehyun finally gets out of the office building, exhausted from an overtimed meeting. The sky is already dark. He checks the time before cursing to himself. When he looks up, he curses the moon instead. _How dare you look so peaceful when I’m on a rush like this?_ he asks. 

But alas, the moon can’t speed up the velocity of the train for all it cares. So at every instance he gets, Jaehyun runs.

  
  
  
  
  


Taeyong sends the last guest home just before the clock strikes nine. He plops down on the bench in the middle of the exhibit with a huge sigh. Minjung comes at him running and cheering, congratulating him for the event. Taeyong gets up on his feet to cheer and scream along as well.

Minjung rounds up her staff and praises them for a successful opening night. Taeyong also butts in to express his gratitude and acclaims. They all share a bottle of champagne using paper cups because the caterers only served until 8, and gallery people don’t usually drink coffee in wine glasses at work. When Minjung begins to talk about special instructions on artwork care, storage safety, and whatnot, Taeyong departs from the crowd to finish his drink by himself.

He checks his phone. It’s at 1%. His notifications are flooded with a dozen things he couldn’t wrap his mind on. It makes him smile. It does feel like a day that deserves some regards. Perhaps he deserves it. It also feels good to admit that this time.

He opens Yuta’s message sent about an hour after he left. _So did he come?_ he asks.

Taeyong rolls his eyes before typing, _no._ His phone dies before he can send it. _Fuck it,_ he thinks.

It’s true Taeyong kept his hopes in the beginning. But the minutes passing by with no sign of Jaehyun had him giving up. An hour after opening, he decided to stop waiting. That seemed to keep the shitty feelings at bay.

So for the most part, he’s fine. As long as he doesn’t think about it for too long, he’s fine. The important thing is he finished the opening night successfully. He’s got clients vouching their names for his works, a very satisfied publicist and director, and an ever supportive set of friends. He’s got more than enough to be thankful for. This is it. This is the dream. He’s finally living it. Why wait for a muse when the canvas is not only painted, but also sold? Right?

 _Right._ But fuck the Jaehyun-shaped hole in his heart. All the exhibits in the world can’t fill that void. At least, he could admit that too.

“Taeyong,” Minjung calls, breaking him out of his head. “We’re closing up in a while. Is there anything else you wanna do?”

Taeyong shakes his head no. Not long after, the staff bid their goodbyes one by one. Taeyong asks if he could stay behind so he could take a photo of the gallery without any people in it. Minjung agrees and helps him get the angles right.

Once he’s satisfied, Minjung congratulates him one more time with a big noona hug. She tells him how proud she is of him too. Taeyong almost cries but he sucks in enough breaths to get him through.

They walk out together. Minjung offers him a ride home, but Taeyong politely declines. His apartment is out of the way, he reasons. And it’s quite far from where they are.

“Well, at least let me drive you to the station,” Minjung says as she swipes her ID over the timestamp machine. “Bus or train?”

Taeyong chews on his lip. He actually wants to walk alone, but Minjung seems heavyset on letting him on her passenger seat. “Bus,” Taeyong mutters.

“That’s not too far. Let’s go,” she replies. So Taeyong follows her helplessly.

The parking lot is a few hundred meters away. The shops are lined closely with each other on this strip, and parking by the sidewalk is prohibited by city regulations. Of course, the extra walk means a few more minutes of Taeyong half-listening to Minjung ramble about her experience with tonight’s clients. He’s grateful for her, really. But he also just wants some time alone with his own thoughts after such a long three hours.

Not even a minute away from the gallery’s entrance, Taeyong stops cold in his tracks. His heart drops to the ground, knees suddenly about to give up. Minjung doesn’t immediately notice her companion has frozen. She keeps walking and talking and eventually stops when…

“Yong.” Jaehyun stands a few feet away from him. He’s still in his office attire, his coat over his suit, satchel strapped across his torso. 

_What the fuck,_ Taeyong thinks to himself. The alarms on his brain are setting off. He realizes he is not ready for this. _What the actual fuck._ “What are you doing here?” he asks instead.

“Look, I tried,” Jaehyun says. He takes a few steps closer and Taeyong feels the back of his neck suddenly becoming increasingly hot. That’s his blood pressure rising and his heart sinking on the floor. Without thinking, he staggers a step back.

“Who’s this?” Minjung asks, walking back to Taeyong.

Taeyong’s vision spins. He forgets proper etiquette for a moment. “This is Jaehyun. He’s my...” he trails off. _Boyfriend?_ Nope. _Friend?_ Uh. _Roommate?_ That would piss Jaehyun off. _Ex?_ That would piss Taeyong off.

“Your muse,” Minjung continues for him with an amused smile. “Right, it’s him. I remember his face from your portfolio.”

 _“Noona!”_ Taeyong says through gritted teeth. He’s gonna pass out. He really feels as if the ground is unstable beneath his feet.

“Sorry! I’m just saying,” she mutters.

Taeyong turns back to Jaehyun. “Jae, this is Minjung noona. She’s the director of the gallery,” he says. Jaehyun greets Minjung with a bow. When he’s done, Taeyong grills him again. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Jaehyun stands within arms length now. “You invited me. I said I’ll come.”

“Yeah, at 6 o’clock! It’s almost 10 now. What do you even expect to find?” Taeyong doesn’t mean to be spiteful, especially not in front of his Minjung noona. But the frustrations for tonight are piling up, and the root cause of it all stands before him.

“I know, I’m sorry. I got stuck at work and—” Jaehyun sighs, averting his gaze. “I’m sorry. No excuse.”

Taeyong exhales heavily, hugging his coat to himself. “It wasn’t your fault, Jaehyunie. It’s okay. Really,” he forces out. 

Jaehyun drops his gaze to his feet. “Guess I’ll just come back tomorrow?” 

Taeyong shrugs. He really doesn’t understand. He was about to speak some more when Minjung cuts in.

“Hey, no,” she says. “It’ll be a shame for you to be here and not see it. The gallery is literally just a few meters away. I can tell security to let you in for a while.”

“Noona,” Taeyong whines. “It’s okay. You don’t have to go through all that trouble.”

Minjung clicks her tongue and grabs both the younger boys’ wrists. “Don’t be silly. It’s no trouble,” she says, almost like a mother. “Besides, he deserves to see it on opening night, Yong-ah. You’ve been waiting for him, right?”

Jaehyun shoots a look at Taeyong who just shakes his head furiously. _She’s lying. Don’t believe her,_ Taeyong mouths. But Jaehyun is already blushing.

Minjung hustles with the security guard who ends up giving them a thirty minute pass. (He gives Minjung a look of fear too, but Taeyong doesn’t want to get into that.) The next thing he knows, they’re right outside the exhibit doors and Minjung is saying goodbye. She has to come home to her husband, she says. Taeyong gives a dramatic gasp when she winks at Jaehyun. The latter just laughs.

It was all good and great but when Minjung left, Taeyong half-hoped she just took him with her. With four deep breaths and a fifth deeper inhale, he finally faces Jaehyun. If his heart breaks again tonight, at least he’d be ready this time.

  
  
  
  


Jaehyun thinks if he had 1,000 won for every time he wishes he could hold Taeyong’s hand, he’d have enough money to be able to commute to work for an entire week. It’s too easy to just grab it like he usually does, and so fucking hard not to.

Taeyong was planning to sit on the bench in the middle of the room, but Jaehyun convinced him to walk him through each painting. “Come on. Don’t I get VIP treatment?” he said jokingly.

Taeyong just shrugged and sighed. “Fine, if you want one.”

So now, he’s standing beside Taeyong in front of a painting called _Peach on a Pillow._ “I don’t think I have to explain this one,” the older says.

“Peach on a Pillow,” Jaehyun reads. To put it simply, it’s a painting of the bottom half of his face lying on a pillow with a little more emphasis on the lips. He remembers this painting in a much smaller canvas with a much different color scheme. It’s similar to the first painting Taeyong did for the first time in years, the one he was working on when he first told Jaehyun he loves him.

“Title’s corny?” Taeyong scrunches his nose.

Jaehyun chuckles. “No, I love it.” 

The exhibit feels a little like a reunion of old friends. These pieces are familiar to him, but not perfectly. He remembers Taeyong working on them; some days controlled, other days a shitstorm. But he never saw them as they are now: perfect, complete, and so undeniably By Lee Taeyong.

“Ohmygod,” Jaehyun mutters as they move to the next piece. “Is that the paint on my shirt that one night?”

> **_Broken Metaphors_ **
> 
> _Mixed Media_
> 
> _1.5 m x 1.5 m_
> 
> _By Lee Taeyong_

“Yeah. Sorry I snipped it. I was really mad one time and the scissors were right there,” Taeyong answers sheepishly.

The piece is an assemblage of actual paint tubes, paint brush, autumn leaves, and a piece of Jaehyun’s black shirt cut out on the part where Taeyong accidentally painted a solid yellow stripe. Jaehyun doesn’t have to assume anything. The title itself is enough of a giveaway. This is one of the recently finished pieces, done when the entire structure of their relationship is falling apart.

 _Metaphor for I share my happiness with you,_ he remembers saying after smudging the paint on Taeyong’s shirt too. It was all good and great back then. Fast forward to a few weeks later, Jaehyun basically chastised Taeyong for fuelling the passion that makes him happy. Jaehyun wants to hit himself in the goddamn head. 

Broken Metaphors indeed.

“I guess I really owe you a shirt now,” Taeyong mutters beside him.

Jaehyun forces a laugh. “Hey, we already called it even.”

Taeyong giggles back. “I’m kidding, love,” he says. “Your shirt’s in the apartment. I just redid the yellow paint on a black cloth. I don’t think you’d be okay with giving even a piece of your shirt to some stranger.”

Jaehyun nods mindlessly. He actually stopped listening the moment he heard a pet name slip out of Taeyong’s mouth. It fries his brain for a few good seconds. Red rushes to his face, and suddenly he feels quite dizzy. Taeyong had to drag him to the next piece before he could utter any reply.

The more pieces he sees, the more explanation he hears, the more complete the picture becomes. Jaehyun could tell which ones were made during their better days ( _Daisies at Fall; Sunset by the River; Numbed; Approx. 27)_ and which were made towards the end ( _The Worst Days; Three and A Half to Four; Dancing On Cold Pavements; The Yield)._

The entire thing is a story, not only of Taeyong’s journey of creation, but of _them._ Each stroke a page; each painting a chapter. And Jaehyun knows no matter how intricate each artwork is, no matter how genius art analysts might be, no one better understands the stories behind these paintings than them. Parts of Taeyong are scattered all over, and Jaehyun is everywhere. They lived in these canvases. They danced wearing these colors.

This is _Fall,_ of falling... leaves; in love; apart; or away. Of beginnings and ends. Of multiple meanings. Of Jaehyun & Taeyong.

And finally, the star of the night. It is the first thing anyone would see as they enter the exhibit, but Jaehyun understands why Taeyong decided to talk about it last. Displayed in the best part of the room, directly in front of the lounge bench, is the all too familiar fall painting. Jaehyun is no expert in art, but he’s seen enough of it to know which ones are often sought for by the industry. And if this isn’t it, then goddammit the aesthetes are screwed. The finished piece is even better than how Jaehyun recalls it in his memory, which says a lot because the work in progress alone was already astounding.

> **_Ground Zero_ **
> 
> _Oil on Canvas_
> 
> _3m x 5m_
> 
> _By Lee Taeyong_

Standing directly in front of it, the colors feel as if they’re jumping out. An explosion of autumn, so to speak. It feels as if you’re sitting by the bonfire, finding comfort in the flickers of its flames without forgetting that fire is fire, and too much of it will always burn. Peace with the awareness of danger. Beginning with the knowledge of an end. 

Before Jaehyun could step away to appreciate it in a much wider view, his eyes glaze over the tiny note just below the caption. Suddenly, he feels like he’s the one fire.

“Not for sale?!” he exclaims. “Is this right?”

Taeyong nods, hugging his arms to himself.

“I don’t understand,” Jaehyun says. “This is your showstopper. It’s more than perfect, Yong. Why is it not in the market?”

The older snorts. “You sound like you’re talking to a client who makes the worst decisions in business,” he says before shrugging. “I just don’t wanna sell it off.”

Jaehyun is incredulous. “Are you kidding? If I had the money, I’d spend generously on this. I’d be disappointed seeing it’s not for sale. The story alone is enough of a selling point.”

Taeyong chuckles. “That’s exactly why I didn’t put it up for sale,” he says. “Minjung noona was upset about it too but,” he shrugs again, “it felt too personal to just end up in some random bougie’s living room or something.”

Jaehyun frowns. “Did you just say bougie?”

“I did just say bougie.” Taeyong looks weirdly proud of himself.

Jaehyun tilts his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “I’ve never heard you say bougie before.”

“Bougie, bougie, bougie.” Taeyong grins. “Now you’ve heard me say it a total of five times.”

Jaehyun takes a deep breath. _Fuck._ He laughs aloud to try and ignore the fact that his heart is swelling inside his chest so much that it hurts. _Fuck it. Fuck. Fuck._ He’s gonna remove the seal he’s been putting on his lips since he came here and just say shit out unfiltered. He used to hold the most beautiful man in his sleep and he let that go. What else can he lose? 

“God, I missed you,” he says.

Jaehyun sees Taeyong’s eyes widen, which makes _his_ eyes widen. The comfortable mood melts faster than snow on a sunny day. Taeyong looks at anything but Jaehyun’s eyes, and Jaehyun lets his gaze travel anywhere but Taeyong’s. A duet of awkward “Uhh.. I, uh—um, uh, mm” echoes around the room until Taeyong finally sighs and says, “You can’t do that. That’s not allowed. Illegal.” He shakes his head as if that would make the blushing go away. 

“What?” Jaehyun scowls. “I just said I missed you.”

“Stop, ohmygod,” Taeyong grumbles. He slaps both his palms on his cheeks, letting them slide off. “You can’t just say shit like that, like you weren’t the one who broke up with me, okay? You can’t be acting so casual about this as if you still love me and all that. It’s not fair.”

Jaehyun lets out an empty laugh. He finally looks Taeyong in the eye. “Who even said I don’t love you anymore?”

Taeyong’s eyebrows furrow in an unbelieving kind of way, his hands flailing unpurposefully until the point at Jaehyun. “I mean—you?”

“Me? When the hell did I say that?!” Jaehyun frowns.

Taeyong raises an index finger. “Don’t raise your voice at me. Not even like that, okay? Not today, please. My tears are shallow as fuck right now. I cried a lot earlier and I thought I’ve dried out, but apparently, I have a lot of goddamn tears left. So please.”

The alarms set off in Jaehyun’s head. Fuck all the 1,000 wons he could get. He reaches for Taeyong’s hand, slow enough that if Taeyong doesn’t want it, he could easily pull away. When he doesn’t, Jaehyun takes hold of them, as easy as breathing. “Don’t cry, baby. I’m sorry. I was just shocked,” he says.

“This is gonna make me cry too. Why are you calling me that again? What are you doing?” he whines.

“I’m holding your hand. Don’t cry,” Jaehyun replies. Then in a much calmer tone, he asks again, “When did I say I didn’t love you anymore?”

The tear escapes from Taeyong’s eyes. Jaehyun wipes it off immediately. “You said that night we broke up,” the older says in a broken voice. “You said I made it hard for you to love me.”

“And before I left, you also asked if I still love you. What did I say?”

Taeyong’s gaze drops to his feet. “You said ‘too much.”

“Does that equate to me not loving you anymore?” Jaehyun asks.

Taeyong throws his hands in the air. Jaehyun scrambles to take it back in his hold. “I don’t know!” Taeyong whines. “I just assumed you got sick of me making you feel like you’re carrying this entire relationship alone, and me not being there when you need me, and making you feel like I don’t love you anymore—which is bullshit, by the way. Then I accused you of something so horrible and I’m so, _so_ sorry for that. I know you’re better than what’s going on in my head. I trust you, Jaehyunie. I do. I just spiralled. I’m so ashamed of myself. I acted batshit crazy, I realize that now. 

“I mean, fuck,” Taeyong lets out a deep breath, “if I were you, I’d stop loving me too.”

Jaehyun tugs on Taeyong’s arm. When he tries to interlace their fingers together, Taeyong doesn’t move away. “Listen to me,” he says, moving two steps closer. So close that if he leans just a bit, he could kiss the tip of Taeyong’s nose. “I love you, okay? I never stopped loving you. A week of us not being together won’t just make that go away. Hell, five years might not even be enough. Even when I was pissed, even when I ran out, even when I said it got hard, I still love you. I told you before, right? Nothing could ever make me love you any less. Do you still trust me on that?”

Taeyong’s lip is quivering and it takes all of Jaehyun to keep himself from just leaning in and kissing it away. He feels as if he hasn’t earned that right just yet. “I’m so confused right now,” the older cries. “What are we doing? I thought you said we should stop.”

“I said we could just pause too.” Jaehyun’s heart drops. He takes one step back. “Unless you want a full stop.”

Taeyong shakes his head. He pulls his hand from Jaehyun’s hold to bury his face in his palms. His sobs come quietly, but each one breaks through the chinks of Jaehyun’s armor and pierces him right through.

“Taeyong,” Jaehyun says, but it sounds more like begging. “Talk to me, please.”

Taeyong sniffles. “It’s just—” he wipes his eyes on his sleeves before sighing. “What happens if we unpause? You’ll still be busy. I’ll still be running back and forth from here and the museum. Even if I try my best, I still might not be enough because you were right, Jaehyunie. I never exerted as much effort in us as you did. I’ve always spent more time on the receiving end and god, I’m so grateful for everything you do for me. And I’m sorry if you felt I couldn’t return it. I’m sorry if that made you feel like I didn’t love you as much as you love me. But I do love you, okay? I guess I suck at showing it. Towards the end, I got so scared because I could feel like I was losing you. I’m sorry if I closed off. I’m sorry—” Taeyong sobs. “I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

The floor under Jaehyun’s feet feels like a quicksand slowly eating him alive. He couldn’t move too much if he didn't want to plunge under. He couldn’t reach for Taeyong even if he wanted to.

“But look,” Taeyong continues, “even if we decide to try again, we still have all these other responsibilities on our shoulders. It would still be so easy to lose time. We’ll get tired again. What happens then? We’ll pause? Then continue? Then pause? God, I don’t know if I can go through all the giving up again.” Then in a much quieter voice, he adds, “I ran out of studios to dismantle.”

Jaehyun had to take six seconds to let the last statement absorb in his brain. He lets out a small chuckle when Taeyong says “I’m kidding about the last one, ‘kay?” Then he takes his hand again because Taeyong allows him to. He kisses his knuckles, a butterfly for each one, before finally pulling Taeyong’s arms and placing it around his torso. They’re too close again, but Taeyong is not like the fire of his fall painting. Proximity wouldn’t burn.

Jaehyun moves the hair out of his hyung’s forehead and wipes the tears off his cheeks. “I love you so much,” he says again, almost a whisper. “And you’re enough for me, okay? More than enough. _God,_ I love you. I’m sorry I haven’t been saying it a lot. I’m sorry for a lot of things. I made you feel bad for what you’re doing, for the studio, for this exhibit, for how much I thought you love me. I hurt you too. But I didn’t mean any of those, baby, please believe me. I let my anger drive me. I’m so sorry,” his voice now breaks too. “You’re right. I got tired. I missed you a lot and I couldn’t find you when I needed you. But pausing is not the answer. I know that now. Dismantling your studio and renting a space is not the answer either. God, why would you do that?”

“I wanted you to have the apartment,” Taeyong whines.

Jaehyun chuckles despite his tears. “You didn’t wait for me to come back? What, you think I’m some dignified man who sticks to his decisions?”

Taeyong makes a face. “Well… yeah? I admire that about you.”

Jaehyun mentally face-palms himself. “Okay well this is an exception,” he grumbles. “I’d lose everything except for you. We have to fix this, baby.” He searches Taeyong’s eyes. “That is, if you still want to.”

Taeyong’s eyes glisten. “You still love me?” he says, as if that’s so hard to believe.

“I do really still love you,” Jaehyun replies.

“No more pausing?”

“Absolutely none.”

“If you get tired again?”

“Then kiss me. That always seems to solve things,” Jaehyun muses.

Taeyong scrunches his nose. “It does?”

“Yes!” Jaehyun is growing impatient now.

Taeyong chuckles. “‘Mkay,” he mumbles. “I really do still love you too.”

And that’s it. Jaehyun finally leans in. Slowly. Just in case he read it all wrong, he mutters “I can kiss you, right?” when they are less than an inch apart.

Taeyong giggles. “Of course, idiot,” he says. 

Taeyong’s arms fly to Jaehyun’s neck while Jaehyun pulls Taeyong closer by the waist. A tilt of their head so minute brings their lips together. And _god,_ how long has it been since Jaehyun kissed Taeyong like this, so passionate and unhurried. Clouds seem to swirl around them. Jaehyun feels so fucking light. Maybe they missed this, but how stupid it was for them to almost let it all go.

Jaehyun pulls away with a gasp, Taeyong’s lips trailing over his, almost ghosting his skin. Jaehyun follows with one more less intense smack, then another, until Taeyong is gently pushing on his chest.

He nods his head towards the entrance. Jaehyun follows his gaze and sees the security guard standing by the entryway.

“You two seem done. Thirty minutes is up,” he says.

Jaehyun frowns. He checks his watch and makes some minor computations in his head. It doesn’t feel like thirty minutes. “It’s only been 27 minutes,” he mutters.

Taeyong just laughs. “Let’s go,” he says. He steps away from Jaehyun, but not before the younger could lock their fingers together. They grab their coats from the bench in the middle of the room. Taeyong expresses his thanks to the security, who just bowed and waved him off, before finally dragging Jaehyun out of the building.

For some reason, Taeyong is skipping so the point where their fingers are interlaced are bouncing. Jaehyun tugs lightly on Taeyong’s arm before pulling him again. He kisses him by the sidewalk just because he can. Taeyong smiles when they pull away.

“I’m sorry I almost lost you,” Jaehyun mumbles.

Taeyong pecks him on the lips one more time. “No more sorries,” he says. “I told you it hurts me.”

So Jaehyun keeps all his regrets to himself. He watches Taeyong glowing with his bright eyes and happy chuckles as they walk. He can’t imagine not having this. And he absolutely hates himself for spending a week in Johnny’s goddamn couch when he could have had this all instead. But perhaps, lessons are truly learned in the toughest times. At least now he’s aware of how much he can lose. Now he knows he won’t ever let it happen again.

On the bus ride home, he lets his head rest on Taeyong’s shoulder. He’s already walking on the line between slumber and consciousness when Taeyong jolts, sending a shock throughout his entire body.

“Shit, baby. Sorry,” Taeyong says, patting Jaehyun’s cheek.

But whatever. Jaehyun is awake now. He sits upright. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. I just realized…” he turns to Jaehyun, lips puckered slightly. “You’re moving back in, right?”

“Yeah?”

Taeyong nods, but he looks perplexed. “Cool. Just… still processing.” He scrunches his nose. “You’re gonna sleep beside me?”

“Yes, Taeyong. Come on.”

“Sorry,” he mutters.

The rest of the ride suddenly turned into a game of twenty questions. Jaehyun started returning some queries as well. 

Where did you stay when you moved out? _Johnny’s. His couch sucks. Did you invite Yuta to the opening?_ Yes. You know we’re just completely platonic, right? _Yeah, I’m sorry. Do you wanna attend a cooking class together?_ What, no. I cook perfectly fine. Do you? _Yeah, I think it’s cute. Doyoung attends one. He invited Johnny. You know he likes him, right?_ Yeah. I’m sorry. Are they together? _No. Johnny likes someone else._ Too bad—oh! Yuta is also attending a cooking class. _Oh cool. Now, I don’t wanna go._ Jae. _I’m kidding. You didn’t even wanna go in the first place._ …Fine. Hey, what did you wanna talk about when you texted me? _I was gonna beg for you to take me back._ Oh. Shouldn’t I be the one doing that? _No. I left. I’m the one who’s been sleeping on some stupid ass couch._ Okay, okay. Calm down. … I’m starving. Do you wanna get something to eat? _Yeah. A sandwich._ Okay. _Okay._

Then finally, Jaehyun remembers the question he’s been meaning to ask before he saw the _NOT FOR SALE_ sign. “Why Ground Zero?”

“Huh?” 

“The fall painting. Why is it called Ground Zero?”

“Oh.” Taeyong puffs his cheeks. “Well, it’s a painting of where we first met. But it also symbolizes everything that ended us. So, it’s the beginning,” he looks away, “but it’s also the end.”

Jaehyun considers it for a moment. It’s quite a charming title. He’s still convinced that if that painting is put up for sale, it would easily be the most in-demand piece in that collection. But Taeyong is also right. It feels too personal. And he knows no matter how much convincing he does, he would never get Taeyong to put a price on it. Rightfully so. That work of art is theirs and theirs alone. All the money in the world couldn’t buy the exact moment the world brought him to Taeyong.

“Fuck endings,” Jaehyun finally replies after a while. Ground Zero is the beginning of everything. Nothing is the end.

Taeyong just laughs and kisses him on the cheek. “Fuck endings,”he agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah finally it’s done!!! if you’ve reached until here, thank you so much for staying with this fic all the way through. it got frustrating and sad and also kinda sappy, but im glad it’s done. fuck endings indeed, am i right *legendary high five*
> 
> also, huge thanks to zy, yxa, and dana for giving me a combination of feedbacks and keyboard smashes. this would end longer without u. i appreciate you all <3
> 
> if u have questions, fic suggestions, violent reactions, or if u just wanna chat, feel free to hmu anytime! [twt](twitter.com/pandorxsbox) | [cc](curiouscat.com/pandorxsbox)


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